


Let's Do This Over

by MagicalTreeStump



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalTreeStump/pseuds/MagicalTreeStump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin is executed after being revealed as a sorcerer the fate of the world is changed forever. Arthur must travel to the Elvish court to fix his destiny. From there a tale of trust, religion and homophobia unfolds as they are reborn to fight alongside Robert the Bruce in a bid for independence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one. camelot

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say a massive thank you to my wonderful beta Emily, as well as my fantastic artist! I'm still amazed at the art. I'd also like to say thank you to Morgan for being my number one bae and betaing my last minute stuff in school. Also, James Mi for writing the first dragon scene while I should have been revising for art. I'd also like to thank all of the EU group chat for putting up with my weird questions. On the upside, it brought archery into our hearts.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy my shoddy attempt at history revision.

 

****

**1.1**

Arthur Pendragon could still remember watching his first execution from behind his father’s legs. He had been six years old and far too young to truly understand what was happening. He could still feel the burning at the back of his throat and the heaviness in his nose. He could smell the fire and ash; the burning flesh that stunk worse than rotten meat.

Now, locked inside the prison cells underneath Camelot, Arthur could smell the smoke of another fire coming in through the grate. His father was out there watching over the proceedings for a balcony. The pyre was lit. The sorcerer would die.

He should feel something. He just couldn’t figure out what he was meant to feel. He was angry at his father, at the court for so brazenly betraying him like this. He should hate Morgana for not having warned him sooner. He should hate Gaius for ever letting Merlin stay. And most of all, Arthur should hate Merlin for letting himself be caught. He should hate Merlin for ever letting Arthur in.

Arthur sat with his back straight against the cool stone. His head tilted upwards, centred beneath the grate, trying to be as close to Merlin as he could possibly be. He wanted to defy the thick stone walls, the iron door and the courtyard between them. Every man and woman who stood between them would feel his wrath.

Arthur felt the pull of magic enticing him. He saw the silver tendrils once, twice sweep around the room in a graceful arch before resting on the door. This magic was peaceful; nothing like the decaying scene outside. This magic was nothing like Merlin’s. It felt like burning and with a hot flash of colour and light it threw the cell door open. Time stood still.

The guards were frozen in place. Their swords lifted up half way in defence. The magic startling them into a senseless sleep. They didn’t move as Arthur walked past. There was not so much as a blink from either one of them.

He felt the magic push him to the courtyard where the dreaded scene awaited him. The courtyard was full of courtiers dressed in their finest clothes; knights who had once been Merlin’s friends; and peasants who had once walked beside him. Uther, dressed in golds and red, stood apart from the crowd above them all like a God. His hand was lifted mercilessly, beckoning towards the fire. The malicious presence of betrayal held his figure down. A member of his own court—the boy he had named to serve his son—was guilty of the highest form of treason. The irony of it all hadn’t escaped Arthur.

Uther’s hand guided Arthur towards Merlin, slumped against the stake. He was the image of heavenly sacrifice. A man determined to protect all that was good burning in front of his friends. His hair was matted against his head, thick with sweat and blood. Deep scarlet lines were etched into his forehead, his clothes were torn and a crown of blood had been placed on his head. He was motionless like the rest of the world. The ash from the fire billowed around him and hung in the air, held their indefinitely by the unmoving wind. The ash was the only sign that the flames lapping at Merlin’s thighs had worked. There was no sign of burning on his skin.

There was something god like in all of this, Arthur couldn’t help but think. The stark contrast of red against the greys of the ash. The entire of the citadel had been covered by the breeze. Merlin’s sacrifice a grim reminder. It would take weeks for the ash to be cleared from the walls. In mid summer too the rain might not come for weeks, and then it could be too late to wash away the evidence of Merlin’s burning.

Arthur knew of the prophecy. Bits and pieces stuck out to him now. Like how Merlin was the saviour who would guide Arthur to welcoming magic back into the heart of Camelot. He knew that it was destiny that Merlin and he had met. He understood that their friendship was the start of something great. There was no denying the significance of their lives. They were the chosen ones; together they were the bringers of the golden age of Camelot. And with Uther’s decision to execute Merlin he had changed the fate of the world. Uther had made the ultimate sacrifice for Camelot. There would be no golden age. There would be only war, and hatred, and denial.

But the world was still a picture. And though the scene before Arthur was one of tragedy, he had time to save it all. A single flicker of hope remained inside Arthur. Merlin was alive. He had stopped time. Together they would escape Camelot.

Arthur moved. He walked through the courtyard, sidestepping the people as he went. He was too slow, too calm for his liking, but nothing else made sense. If he moved too swiftly then he might break the spell. If he went with haste he might ruin it all. Arthur wanted to scream and kick and fight as he rescued Merlin’s body from the flames. He wanted someone else to be aware of what he was doing.

He pulled Merlin down from the pyre and the ropes holding him fell to pieces. Time stuttered enough for the eyes watching Uther to shift to him. And fuck, if seeing Merlin burning for all eternity wasn’t enough to set Arthur on edge, this certainly was.

 In the stables, no doubt by some miracle, a horse was waiting ready. Arthur’s sword, his armour and his hunting knife were already strapped to the sides. To the side, Morgana stood caught between readying another horse and breathing.

Arthur could feel the flames from the pyre. He felt the need to ride away into nothingness and plot his revenge. He felt the silver magic cold against his flushed skin. It took him away from his feelings and instead placed him in a field somewhere else. A moment of clarity washed over him, putting a rest to the fire and torment. He had to head north and find the Elvish Court deep inside the Màrnach. There he would find some peace.

****

**1.2**

Time had resumed when Arthur had passed the border between Camelot and Mercia. The Màrnach was eight days away by horse but how much of the journey had passed already Arthur was unsure of. The thick trees of the forest saw no end and the sun seemed to rise faster and set slower. Time was passing, but it was losing its common touch.

 Arthur could tell just by looking at Merlin that time had not taken a hold of his body. His skin was cold, he had no pulse, but his cheeks were flushed with warmth and his mouth was parted in sleep. His legs were blistered and raw from the flames. The fever and sweat on his brow were the only indicator that beyond any possibility that Merlin was still alive. And he was in the forest, being taken away from Gaius’ help. It was the cost of treason.

 Arthur couldn’t help but think that treason, in this one instance, was justifiable. He had seen Merlin’s magic first hand. He saw the way the gold curled around his body and made of him. He saw the stars in his eyes and the fire of a thousand suns inside of him. There was power beyond reason inside of Merlin, and Arthur had seen it all. Merlin was golden. His magic was for the good of Camelot.

 Uther could never have seen it that way. His mind was corrupted with hatred. His anger had consumed all that was good about him. Arthur never expected his father to have reacted differently. It was... something else that took hold of him. Someone had betrayed their secret. Arthur could count on his hand the people who knew about Merlin’s secret, and there were even less that knew of their relationship. Of the handfasting. Morgana, Gaius, Gwaine. Gwen.

 Arthur didn’t want to think of any of them as the betrayer. He hoped it was someone else. A passing servant had heard or seen too much. One of Uther’s knights had found out. If it were a man, let it be any other man than one of Arthur’s.

 It was too late for regrets or could-have-beens. There was no way he could turn back time and change what fate had made of their lives. And how fate had played them well. It had promised the golden age and left Arthur with a dead lover and a destroyed destiny.

 The Màrnach was all that lay ahead of him now.

**1.3**

The sun stopped in its place midday of the third day. Arthur's horse carried on despite not having rested. He hadn't even stopped to put on his armour. Arthur had Merlin's body cradled against his own and he could feel the cold sweat of fever creeping through his tunic. The static of Merlin's body was all that held Arthur in place. He was constantly moments away from breaking but the hope of reaching the Màrnach with Merlin’s body before the sun finally went down was all the hope he had.

 Arthur had no way of knowing how long he had been riding. The silence of the forest didn’t help at all, and the forest itself seemed to last forever. It was like none of the five great kingdoms had ever been made, and beyond the northern border of what Arthur thought had been Gawant it was like the petty kings had never blessed the grounds of Albion. Instead what looked like remains of small castles—nothing more than stone dwellings destroyed long ago—had been overcome by thickets of grass and shrub. As Arthur rode deeper into the forest, now having gone days on end without rest, these buildings became more frequent and with better upkeep.

 The trees grew sparser as Arthur went on. The buildings became less derelict but remained unlivable. The strength of the sun grew stronger, and the light began to blind him as it poured through the edges of the trees. The trees became mere silhouettes as white beams spread between. Arthur felt no fear. The light called to him the same way the silver magic did in Camelot. The shadows of the trees began to change, in places the branches hung to look like limbs and long hair caught in the wind. The bark carved by the wind to look like gnarled skin and golden flecks in the bark made out faded faces. The draw of the light, the warmth it cast over Arthur, was enough to calm him. He didn’t think twice about the faces in the trees. Instead he urged his horse on faster.

 The trees bottomed out but the light carried on beyond the end of the world. Arthur felt himself slipping away from everything. For the first time in days he felt truly tired and the mercy of the light was so passionate. Behind him he felt Merlin stir briefly, sinking further into Arthur’s back before stilling again. Arthur’s eyes drooped. The light should have blinded him but instead it lured him into a sleep. Briefly he felt himself slipping from his horse, he lost the touch of Merlin behind him. It was as if the light had created hands to manoeuvre him from his horse. Arthur couldn’t react. He let himself be carried away by the light. He let Merlin’s grip fall from his body. He let his horse walk away.

 Sleep came to him like a wave in an unstoppable ocean. He hoped he’d never awake.

**1.4**

Arthur woke up to the soft canopy of a tent above him. His eyes blurred with the soft light streaming in from all around. A stack of soft mattresses were beneath him. He shifted his hands slightly and felt flowers brush against his skin. The thorns didn’t catch on him or his clothes, nor did they seem to rip at the mattress. It was surreal, like an attempt at wooing a girl had gone drastically wrong. Shit, did that make Arthur the girl?

 Arthur had never felt anything like this before in his life. There was content rooted deep in his belly. It stung him like the fire of his forefathers and it bore him no harm. There was sleep heavy in his eyes and a weight was resting in his heart. It was patient, the pain that slowly welcomed him as he came further into his senses. It was a glorious hurt, one that ripped through his very core and made him feel more than human. He was more than alive right now. But at the same time his very being was subdued. What made him hurt was unknown to him. It was strange—the content he felt coinciding so nicely with the need to suffer, with the want to scream out and make it all stop.

 He wanted to reach out to something, anything to make it stop. His attempts to move from the bed were fruitless. He remained in place, barely able to move his hands to brush against the flowers around him. Where were the gods in all of this?

 He managed to lift his head slightly from the pillows. It achieved nothing but the desire to burrow his head deep into the pillow and fall back to sleep. He must have been healing because his skin felt fresh and warm, his mind was calm despite the unexplainable torment his body was in, and his head was clear of all thoughts. He could barely remember who he was beyond Arthur Pendragon and even that was a mystery to him. He was Crown Prince of Camelot, bringer of the golden age, and the once and future king. Those words meant nothing to him now. He had come to be here, inside this tent, and he wanted nothing more than stay here for the rest of his days. It would be his purgatory. An endless torment tainted so that it brought him peace until the moment he could figure it all out and move on.

 He welcomed the urge to sleep. Resting his head once again on the pillows, forgetting entirely the strangeness of the world around him. He needed to heal. He needed his mind to be cured before he could think straight. Arthur just hoped the gods were on his side.

 In his sleep, he dreamt that Merlin and him were in a boat by the sea. In reality it was the crossing point to the foreign lands, but here it seemed like something much more significant than that. It was like the passing point from one momentous place to the next. The boat remained on the rocky shore, far from the reaches of the waves crashing silently against the stones. The boat still rocked. Arthur could feel it deep inside of him. Or maybe the uneasiness in his stomach came from knowing that this just might be the last time he would ever see his friend, and it wasn’t even real.

 Merlin spoke. There was nothing strange or unpleasant about the way his words sound so foreign and familiar as they hit the air. They reverberated with softest of touches. Arthur could almost taste the way the sound of Merlin’s voice caressed his skin.

 “There’s a war coming,” he said. He was the only thing alive.

 Arthur could feel his mouth moving, he could tell he was speaking but he couldn’t hear what he was saying.

 Merlin smiled the way he did sometimes when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking. There was pride in his eyes and a sincerity in the way his mouth curved upwards without thought.

 “You can’t stand against your father alone,” Merlin said. “You don’t have any men to fall back on.”

 “I’ll stand against him,” Arthur said, this time he could hear himself. What he said the first time was lost to him. It had still not caught up. It was lost somewhere between the silence and waves hitting relentlessly against the rocks. “I’ll stand against him and I’ll win no matter what it takes. I’ll do it all for you Merlin. It’s always for you.”

 Merlin sunk back. “Yes, but what will you do?”

 Arthur couldn’t believe that Merlin didn’t see what he going to for him. He thought it was obvious. “I’ll show him that I’m the rightful king. I’ll be the greatest king that Albion has ever seen, and with you by my side he won’t be able to not realise that.”

 “It’s a righteous plan,” Merlin said. “I’ll give you that.” And then when he stopped speaking for a few brief moments the entire world stood still all over again. He looked out over the sea, towards where the foreign lands would be, and brought his ups to rest his head in them. “The gods told me that we once had a destiny that ended something like this, except that in that life your father was gone and you never knew of me until your final days. And you died tragically young in the arms of someone who loved you dearly. I can’t help but think that this life is something like that. You were never meant to fight your father like this. Neither one of us, in either destiny, was meant to die at your father’s hands. What you’re facing is something that even the gods don’t know the extent of. If you fight your father you’re sure to fail.”

 Arthur was shocked. Merlin had always been supporting him. Even if what he did had disastrous consequences. Their lives were intertwined. Everything Arthur did in his recent years he had done for Merlin. It was all for the betterment of their cause. And this was something different. Merlin had always said when Arthur was about to make a huge mistake but he had never so plainly out that Arthur straight out fail. There was no hint of humour or poking fun at. Merlin had been entirely serious. It was probably the biggest sign Arthur had to turn back and stop what he was planning. But when did he ever listen to what Merlin said?

 “I’ll bring magic back for you,” Arthur said so quietly that he was surprised Merlin could even hear it.

 “I’m sure you will,” Merlin said. “But now is not the time. Albion has twenty two kingdoms, four of them great enough to be recognised by Camelot. When I died our destiny died with me. I think we all died then. You’ve just got to realise it. There is no hope for us. What we were meant to achieve has come to pass and all we do from now is wait it all out and hope everything comes around to give us another chance.” Merlin stopped again. He stood up in the boat and walked over to sit beside Arthur. He pulled him into his arms and ran his hands down Arthur’s sides. “I will miss you,” he said. “For all of time. And you will be a great king but not now. One day you will be, but for now you have to settle with surviving outside of your kingdom. The saints will help you realise all of this. But first you have to forgive your father and let this all go. You are my prince, my sweet prince and you’re my king. You were never meant to love me like I love you. I was meant to burn for you as I watched you become the greatest king the world has ever known. But I’ll settle now with knowing that you were always my king. Don’t you dare give this all up for me. Don’t let yourself be overcome with hate and the need for revenge. Don’t let yourself become the man your father has become.”

 Arthur turned his head so his mouth was breathing hot against Merlin’s. “You’re so stupid, Merlin. I’ve already given everything away. I gave it all up for you in a heartbeat. The moment I saw you as you are now I knew I would do anything I could to keep you with me.”

 “With you and your memory.”

 “Yes,” Arthur breathed out. He kissed Merlin one last time as the sound of waves finally came crashing down around them. For a second their mouths met. Then Arthur pulled back and said, “I gave it all up for you long ago.” And then everything was gone. Arthur was left alone in the shell of a broken boat with the knowledge that he would have failed no matter what life he chose to lead.

  **1.5**

When Arthur next awoke it was to realise that the clothes he was wearing were not his own. He looked up to see that he was still in the same tent as he was before, except this time he wasn’t as conflicted. His feelings were bright and raw with the memory of his dream.

 He sat up and looked around the tent. Arthur was in the centre, backed up against a wall of fabric on his pile mattresses. The sun lit up the surroundings as it poured in through the material giving everything a warm glow. To the right, the door flaps were closed but moved slightly with every passing motion of the wind. Rich, thick rugs were placed over the grass and underneath all the furniture. A wooden chest of drawers were in front of Arthur. To the right was a chess table, two chairs, a dining table set up with six places; the chairs draped in furs to make them more appealing. Every piece of wood on show was carved with intricate designs of archaic scenes and nature.

 Arthur clenched his hands in the mattress. The flowers still surrounded him. They were fresh as the day they were picked but they felt like the very same flowers that Arthur had first woken up to. He didn’t know just how long he had been sleeping, but it must have been quite some time. The dream he had of Merlin had seemed to have lasted a lifetime and it was there he had said words so much unlike his own to form a vow. Arthur couldn’t care less about who had brought him to the tent or why. He was filled with an insatiable need for revenge.

 Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to find success in his desires that Merlin and the gods had not foreseen. Merlin himself had said that the gods had no idea of what awaited Arthur. So maybe that meant he stood a chance if not even the gods had seen his downfall.

 Arthur remember his quest to find the elves. Earlier than that he remembered his anger and his father’s rage. He remembered the declarations of treason, the accusations brought against Merlin, and he remembered Morgana’s pleas. He remembered Merlin’s body, lifeless on the pyre but ridden with fever during the journey that spanned Albion. He had carried Merlin’s body against him the whole way. If there was some inkling of insanity to all of this then Arthur just couldn’t see any of it.

 And now, after all of that time spent, Merlin’s body was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Arthur really was dead. Maybe beyond those fair curtains Merlin was out there. Maybe this was the beginning of it all.

A boy came in through the opening then. He was young with sharp features, seemingly no older than Arthur was, and with a natural grace surrounding him. His cheekbones, sharp and slanted, slashed steep angles down his face. His lips were thin and wide, and his nose straight and narrow. There was something jarring about him. Something so unintentionally off putting about the boy’s appearance that Arthur couldn’t help but feel the need to recoil. The boy’s eyes settled on him. They were steel grey, set against silver skin and contrasting pale yellow hair. His aura glowed around him, deep and violent against the soft yellow of the tent.

He spoke in a sweet, feminine voice that made Arthur’s emptiness all but disappear. “You’ll be seen now.”

So these were the elves, Arthur thought. Because there was nothing else these monstrous creatures could be. There was something horrifying about the boy’s beauty. Arthur knew that the elves were intimidating, but from the stories he had been told he had imagined them to be more callous than fearsome. Arthur followed the boy out of the tent and stepped into meadow surrounded by trees. Elves were gathered in clusters around other tents, fires and tables. Looking around he realised that it was all of the elves who looked like this. He had never expected them all to be so brutish in their beauty.

When the boy got to the edge of the meadow he stopped and motioned for Arthur to come forwards.

 “I can go no further,” he said.

 “I thought I was meeting someone.”

 The smiled, causing his eyes to form narrow slits. “Of course. You have to find your own way from here. You must first prove your worth to the gods before you can see her.”

 Arthur nodded, stepped forwards and then, “Where’s my horse?” but that wasn’t what he wanted to ask.

 “It’s fine. He’s fine too.”

 With that, the boy turned and left to join the other elves. Arthur took one last look around the clearing before walking into the trees. He was one step closer to the goal he didn’t realise he had. Although now he was here he was unsure of how much of the journey had been his decision.

 The sun had hung in the sky during his first journey through the forest. And the kingdoms Arthur had come to know throughout his short life had been overrun by the trees. There had been no sign that they had ever truly been kingdoms at all. Now Arthur was walking into the forest he had spent so much time in all over again. Except this time he went without a horse or a friend. This time he went with the fear of his father and the grace of the unknown resting on his shoulders.

 There was nothing left that could be done.

  **1.6**

The ground began to slope upwards steeply. The trees thinned out and gave way to a large clearing. Directly across from where Arthur emerged from the forest was a cave offset in a sudden cliff. A path of mud crawled its way up the left side. A burn trickled past the other, more still than it was fast. A breeze rustled the undergrowth and a sudden heatwave pulled Arthur to his senses.

A dark, hulking shape stumbled from the cave. Arthur froze. It was a dragon, medium in size but lacking that innate cleverness in its eyes. It was a brute. Arthur didn’t move, hoping it wouldn’t notice him.

 Stupidly, he closed his eyes. He didn’t need to wait for long. A terrible, guttural roar came from the dragon. It reared up and let it’s jaw fall open. Instinct threw Arthur to the side. A jet of flame rifled through the air, reaching past where Arthur had been standing.

 Arthur searched the clearing for an escape. Leaning up against a tree was a bow, white and decorated with ornate carvings painted gold. A quiver stock full of arrows sat lie next to it.

 The dragon reared up again and Arthur pushed himself up enough to lung for the bow. It was his only hope. He grabbed it as he fell, nocked an arrow and loosed it.

 The dragon was caught short. A shot of flame erupted from his belly. It hit the ground like bricks. Arthur looked into its eyes as they glazed over. He stood up, brushed himself off and swung the quiver over his shoulder. He left the dragon’s body to the forest, not pausing to look at it as he walked away. He still had to go on.

 

  **1.7**

The house is kind of like this beast of a thing appearing out of nowhere. It's like nothing Arthur has ever seen before and it's brilliant. The architecture is grand, using grey granite to create this monstrous manor. It was nothing like a castle should it. It was built solely for the aesthetics, but that alone seemed to hold the power to stop armies before it. It has such presence and majesty that it seems like a thousand times more than it really is. It has Arthur by the throat, pulling him to pieces as he walks forwards. The sun beats down, hard and slow, and it's tormenting. He can feel it boiling his blood as he goes. It grinds against him slow, pushing him down further and further into the grass. He can't walk without the sun killing him slowly as he goes.

It's the feeling of remorse carried with it that tops it all off. The sun is like this intense ball of everything Arthur has been feeling over the last few days happening all at once. It's hanging over him like an ominous cloud that was born with the sole purpose to fuck him over. It burns. All of it burns like nothing has ever hurt before. The gods looked down on him, and laughed. Arthur could practically feel their eyes boring into him as he walked.

 Arthur walked up the steps and pushed open the heavy doors. They gave away beneath his touch easily. Inside, it was dark and cool, a quick relief from the heat of the sun. Dust floated thick in the air where they were caught by the beams of sun streaming in through the windows a story up. Tapestries hung on wood panelled walls, dark wood covered every surface. For some reason Arthur knew not to explore the downstairs any further. Instead he made his way up the curving flight of stairs. The landing took him to a hallway leading off in all directions with doors on each side.

 Arthur didn’t need to think about which door he was meant to walk through. He had come this far without truly knowing what he was meant to be doing. One more push to open a door was nothing in the scheme of things, but still it made Arthur feel purposeless, without choice or direction. He wondered now about how much of his life had been his decision. How much of his life was just prompts from the gods, pushing him towards a greater good that still managed to fall through.

 But Arthur was here. He could turn back the way he came at any time. He could cross the kingdoms of Albion only to arrive in Camelot with an army waiting for him. Arthur was a traitor. In his father’s eyes he was worse than whoever had betrayed him. It was too late to turn back anyway. Merlin was gone, for good this time. He had barely seen more than three suns though he had been travelling for weeks. He was too far gone to turn back. His father would have disowned him, the gods only knew what happened to Morgana, and he had ruined his reputation. Arthur may not of have his complete will, but nor did he have any other choice than to go through the door and finally find out what his calling was.

 Behind the door a spacious room was revealed. In front of Arthur a woman sat on a throne in such grand dress cast in faded light. She was sharp angles and hard lines. Prominent cheekbones cut down the sides of her face in a jarring way. Her hair was pale gold and as too was the aura that surrounded her, contrasting against her near silver skin. She was horrifying to look at; her image so intense and intimidating that it seemed almost vulgar to Arthur. Almost immediately Arthur recognised her, despite never having seen her before. Her name was Eva. She was the Queen of the Elves.

 She drank wine, like any other mortal being would; from a simple goblet. The room framed the scene. Ivy climbed up the walls to twist around balconies and banisters. To the right of the door were large windows that were the only source of light in the room. And then there were the wall paintings. Images that Arthur had only ever dreamed of seeing were in full view now. Scenes of mortal and immortal war alike were painted on the wood panels. Tapestries hung and told much simpler versions of the same wars. It was like a memorial to all those lost on Albion’s soil. In the paintings even the gods walked freely amongst mortal men in combat.

 Arthur recognised some of the faces. On the left wall there was Thekla the true prophet, dressed in a red cloak and armour. The painting beside her was of Constantine kneeling before a golden throne; he was the first man in Albion to have ever met the elvish delegation. Duncan, first king of the Màrnach was next. On the right were Elisa, Nathanael, and Raphael, the monarchs of the first age. Then on the wall directly opposite the door and underneath the balcony were the paintings of the great elvish saints: Zachariah, the God of War and Fate; Thanos, the guardian and God of Death; and Cameron, God of the Earth. There was an empty space on the wall, Arthur assumed it would be where the current queen would go. And there in amongst them all was a man standing mid battle, a dragon caught mid fire, holding the exact same bow that Arthur was holding. His features had been made soft by the paint. He was vibrant with yellow and red stripes stretching out behind him. Unlike the paintings of the Saints beside him, his entire body was painted instead just a portrait.

 “His name is Mercutio,” Eva’s voice shocked Arthur from his thoughts. “And that bow you hold belongs to him.”

 Arthur didn’t know what to say. Eva still didn’t look at him, but her features began to blur and soften as the sunlight slowly moved over her.

 “You changed,” Arthur breathed out.

 Eva smiled slightly. “We always change. You’re quite the talk in Avalon but I should assure you it is all good.” She rolled her shoulder back and then set the goblet upon the floor. She stood up and walked towards the window. She motioned for Arthur to follow her and he stuttered into an approach. She looked nostalgic, like an old friend Arthur hadn’t seen before in a long time. He almost expected her to start reminiscing about their early years.

 Instead, she said, “We’ve met before. You were betrayed.”

 “I was,” Arthur agreed.

 Eva snapped her head round. “Before?”

 “Days ago now. Maybe weeks.”

 The wistful expression fell from Eva’s face. “Oh,” she said, her voice much less kind and sounding far more confused than it did before. “Of course. You came from Camelot this time.”

 It was Arthur’s turn to be confused, but he nodded anyway.

 “So I was right, you have been betrayed. I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to keep track of things some times. And now the realms are falling everything’s gone mad with fear.” Eva shook her head. “You met the dragon though?”

“Just now.” 

Eva continued on like she didn’t even hear what Arthur said. “You know, there’s a space for you two above the door. Zachariah likes to call it ‘Two Lovers Lost in Paradise’. It’s meant to be juxtaposition, I think. You two great things who fell down at your first hurdle set opposite the greatest men Albion has seen. The irony was lost on some, though.”

 “Me and the dragon?”`

 “What? No! You and Merlin.”

 Arthur took a few moments. Eva looked unperturbed. The window gave view of the surrounding forest. A hill peaked out from the trees, on top of it was a castle with a flag flying over head. The Màrnach, Arthur thought, caught in amongst the elvish lands. A remnant from the past.

 “I found the dragon,” Arthur finally said. “What do you want from me?”

 “He’s kind of like Hylas, don’t you think?” Eva was still avoiding the question.

 “I’ve heard the story.”

 “Yes, well. Merlin looks like him in another life. And then in another life again he looks like-”

 “What’s the point?” Arthur interrupted. “What’s the point in telling me all of this? What you’re doing is just rubbing salt into the wounds. I was summoned here by some means. I had no choice in coming here, you must at least have the decency to tell me what I’m meant to do.”

 Eva waved her hand and a chair appeared out of nowhere. “You should sit,” she said.

 Arthur shook his head. “I’d prefer to stand.”

 Eva rolled her eyes. “If I’m correct, you know of the prophecy. Obviously this time round destiny has failed you. There were too many anomalies, too many coincidences and wrong turnings that led your lives astray. You were never meant to be happy,” Eva stopped. “Gods above, no. That sounds wrong.” She took a moment and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just nothing like this has ever happened before. The life the prophecy had foretold was one that saw great success but little personal happiness. Your wife was to leave you after failing to conceive, and you were to die at the hands of your bastard son.”

 Maybe Arthur should have accepted the seat in the beginning. He sat down and put his head in his hands. “I thought I was meant to bring about the golden age.”

 “Oh no, you were, but that doesn’t mean you were going to be happy.”

 “And I suppose I came here because I failed.”

 “The gods called you,” Eva corrected. “Because they need to salvage what was lost. They sent you on the path to the Màrnach knowing that you would prove yourself.” Eva went back to her throne and sat down. This time though she looked much less queenly and far more like a scared little girl. Arthur imagined that when she wore her crown it would be far too big for her head. “You’re the stuff of legends. The gods were never just going to let you go. Merlin held the pure magic of the earth inside of him. He was the key to returning magic to Camelot and together you two were meant to unite Albion.”

 It was then that Arthur began to link it all together. The dragon had lumbered about like a drunk man, lost and unable to find its way. His lack of hunger or tiredness on his journey. Merlin still seeming alive even though there was no way he could have survived. Time had stopped in Camelot. The sun had hung high in the sky for days, and the sudden shifts between day and night began to make sense. Magic was fading from the earth.

 Arthur began to speak, “The trees in the forest—”

 “Were elves.” It was Eva’s turn to look sit back and look sombre. She opened her mouth but struggled to find the words she wanted to say. When she finally found what she wanted to say she didn’t sound sure. “The people have begun to hibernate to save themselves. It’s an attempt to save themselves from the storm, but the court remains I assure you. No matter what happens, my people will be here.”

 Somehow Arthur doubted that Eva had managed to convince herself of that. She was young in comparison to the gods behind her. Even in comparison to Arthur’s age of nineteen she seemed young and foolish. Her heart was obviously dedicated to the task. She had seen more lifetimes in the blink of an eye than Arthur had seen years. Despite her naivety Arthur saw something of himself in her. She was terrified, having been thrown in at the deep at after being forced to rule over the people before she came of age. Her father had died young and helpless in the face of a war. She had been gifted with the crown, an honour that Arthur would probably never know. Then there was her life after death.

 Even Arthur knew what was meant for her, despite Uther’s strict hand over any information of any magical kind being passed to him other than “evil”. The gods had gifted her with the cup of life when she was a child and her fate was sealed. Upon coming of age she was to become the saint of life. When she died she would join the ranks of the gods.

 “It’s summer here,” Eva whispered, like it was a secret “Can you tell?”

 And Arthur could. In spite of everything that Arthur wanted to feel he could still sense the heat beating down on him. Even seeing was proving hard. He was unsure if it was the sun that blinded him more, or if it was just the grief he had yet to properly feel. He didn’t want to feel the sun on his back when he walked. He didn’t want to have to squint his eyes. He didn’t want to shield himself away from everything. He wanted to grieve and for the world to follow suit. Instead he remained strong and motionless. The golden light around him only made him feel worse.

 “Where’s Merlin?”

 A sharp intake of breath was the only thing that let Arthur know that Eva had heard him.

 Her voice shook as she spoke barely above a whisper. “I tried. Believe me, I tried.”

 Arthur didn’t have to look at her to know that she was crying. His eyes stung and he held his breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

 “Let me see him.”

 “Arthur—”

 “I want to see him,” he raised his voice. “Please.”

 Arthur avoided Eva’s eyes, instead choosing to look out the window. The sun was only just beginning to set but Arthur would have bet anything to say that it would stay just above the tree line for some time.

 “Tomorrow, there’s someone who’s heard of your plight. I’ll think he’ll want to see you then.”

 “I don’t care.”

 Silence echoed around the room. It felt like the paintings were watching him. The room would have been grand long ago but now it just seemed over the top.

 “Very well,” Eva finally said. “But tomorrow...” She didn’t bother to finish her sentence. She just stood up and walked towards the door.

  **1.8**

Merlin’s body lay on a stone plinth. He was dressed in fine clothes that were like something Arthur would find in his own wardrobe. He wore a blue padded jacket and breeches made out of the finest of fabrics. His neckerchief, Pendragon red, was tucked underneath his jacket in a way that reminded Arthur of courtiers in foreign courts. It was fitting. Merlin was from another world in a sense of the word. He was royalty to those born of magic. He looked older. His skin was warmer but traces of ash still remained on his face and hands.

 He was just like Arthur had imagined him to be when he was king. Merlin looked as if he was simply sleeping, having chosen to take a rest from his position as advisor and court sorcerer. The truth of the situation was almost too painful to bear.

 “Do you have a cloth?” he asked.

 “There should be one in the bucket on the other side,” Eva replied.

 On the other side of the plinth sure enough there was a cloth. Arthur dipped his hands into the warm water and pulled the cloth out. While he wrung it out in one hand he let his other reach out to touch Merlin’s jaw. His skin was cold, not at all like it had looked. Arthur brought the cloth up to Merlin’s face and began to gently clean away the dirt, avoiding the fine clothes as best he could.

 “I’ll leave you alone,” Arthur heard shortly before the dull thud of the door closing help shatter the silence.

 Arthur worked silently. Part of him expected Merlin to jump or stir with each new touch. Instead he lied there with a placid expression on his face. He was peaceful in death in a way that Arthur had never seen him in life. Arthur worked gently. He took his time to wash away the ash.

 After Merlin’s face was clean he moved onto the arms. He folded down the jacket sleeves to wipe at Merlin’s limp wrists and forearms. Then he cleaned the palms before moving onto the backs of his hands. Finally, he washed each finger and thumb individually. When he was done and had run out of excuses to touch he dropped the cloth back into the water. He readjusted Merlin’s jacket and then thread one hand through his hair and leaned down to press one last kiss to his lips.

 He left Merlin behind him when he walked out the room, but he never left him behind.

 Eva was sat on a wooden bench behind the door. Her eyes were wide with shock or fear, Arthur didn’t know which. She stared at the bottom of the opposite wall.

 “You show him the greatest kindness,” she said.

 “What do I do now?” Arthur asked instead of replying.

 Eva jolted her eyes up. She took a moment to process what Arthur had asked before she looked at him. “You carry on. You live.”

 “I wage war.”

 Eva hesitated. “Yes,” she answered. It hadn’t been a question.

  **1.9**

 In the morning, if it could have been called a morning as the sun still hung heavy in the sky, Arthur walked into the grand hall to find Morgana waiting by the window. She was framed by the sunlight that never faded.

 Eva walked in beside Arthur but didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look surprised by Morgana’s sudden appearance. She was the only connection they had to the gods. Maybe it was to be expected that she knew things that Arthur didn’t.

 “You’re here,” Arthur said, he was still surprised by Morgana’s arrival even if Eva wasn’t. “Are you hurt?”

 Morgana turned around, surprised by Arthur’s appearance perhaps more so than Arthur was of hers. Morgana immediately walked forwards and pulled him into a tight hug.

 “I’m fine. I thought you were dead,” she replied. She pulled away and locked eyes with Arthur. She hesitated, “Is Merlin?”

 “It’s best not to dwell on it,” Eva said, reminding Arthur of her presence.

 “Oh, of course,” Morgana said, clearly noticing Eva for the first time.

 “I’m Eva,” Eva said when she noticed that Morgana was confused. “I’m the Queen of the Elves. I helped give you passage through the Màrnach.”

 Morgana nodded distantly. She looked back through the window she had been beside earlier.

 Eva frowned. “You’re looking for someone. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

 Arthur trusted Eva. She was young, inexperienced and it probably wasn’t too much to say that she was out of her depth. However despite how little time Arthur had known Eva for and despite all the little nuances that made her different from him, Arthur couldn’t help but trust her. She knew things that one else could have known. Beyond everything else, she had tried what even Merlin had failed to do—to revive the dead. She wasn’t even of age, and yet she had still tried despite knowing that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Arthur couldn’t help if that action had evoked some sort of vague sense of loyalty.

 Morgana broke Arthur from his thoughts. “It’s Gwen,” she said. “She was with me but she must have gotten lost in the forest.”

 “Do tell,” Eva leaned forwards in interest. “She got lost?”

 “We were riding. We’d been in the forest for days when we came across the court she was with me the whole time we were there. But when we left to go back to the forest we got separated. I haven’t seen her in days.”

 Arthur looked at Eva who was practically buzzing with excitement. The glamour that was softening her features faded briefly with the splitting of her concentration, leading Morgana and Arthur both to recoil. Arthur knew the significance of the second forest was greater than the first. The first forest was simply to determine a righteous cause. The second forest saw the judgement of the gods cast down upon any mortal man. Anyone who was deemed good would be allowed to pass through the second forest without harm.

 “You were betrayed,” Eva smiled.

 Arthur heard the blood rushing in his ears. His heart pounded in his chest with the anxiety of what would come next.

 Morgana was stunned. “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything—”

 “No, no. You don’t see. You were betrayed. The second forest is for the gods to determine who is trusted to their cause. Your traitor was found the moment she left the court. She was doomed from the start.”

 “You don’t mean—”

 “The gods presented Arthur with Mercutio’s bow as a sign of their trust. They gave you the loss of a friend so you could stand with Arthur.”

 “And I slayed the dragon,” Arthur cut in.

 Eva snapped her head round to look at him. “You slayed the dragon?”

 “Yes,” Arthur said, drawing the word out. “I thought that should have been obvious.”

 “Oh gods,” Eva despaired. “I can’t believe you killed the dragon.”

 “Was I not meant to do that?”

 “No it’s… If it’s what the gods wanted for you to do, then of course you were meant to slay the dragon.”

 Eva walked away from them both. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment to take this all in.”

 Morgana leaned in to Arthur so that only he could hear what she was about to say.

 “You totally just killed her pet,” she smiled sharply.

 Arthur let out a loud laugh for just a second before he managed to recompose himself.

 “Do you think she minds?”

 “Hmmm,” Morgana smiled. “I think you might have just ruined your chance, that’s for sure.”

 Arthur smiled right on back. It was bittersweet to find this type of adolescent joy in amongst all of their grief. It was needed though, even if it was at Eva’s possible expense.

 “I can’t believe you slayed the dragon, though,” Morgana said.

 Eva chose that moment to return. She had recomposed herself but still remained a little teary eyed. “As I was saying,” she said, “When Gwen stepped into the second forest her true self was revealed. She was the one who betrayed Merlin’s secret. There was no other way for the gods to not let her pass through.”

 Arthur could bring himself to believe what was being said. It made sense, though, that was the scary thing. Only someone who had been close to Merlin could have possibly known his secret. But still, Merlin had been careful. Arthur had made him promise to not do magic in front of anyone except him and Gaius. Gwen could never have known Merlin’s secret. Unless… unless she had discovered something else. Something that was perhaps even bigger than magic being at the heart of Camelot.

 “Was Guinevere meant to be my wife?”

 Eva’s hesitation was all that it took for Arthur to realise the extent of the damage done. “She was always going to betray you, Arthur. Even your heart couldn’t change that.”

 Arthur swallowed. Too busy trying not the feel to realise the extent of his anger. It was a horrible combination. The anger and hate he suddenly felt towards a long time friend mixed in with the grief of losing Merlin.

 “I’ll give you time,” Eva said. “Why don’t I show Morgana around while you take your time.”

 Arthur barely managed to nod in agreement, let alone hear Morgana’s soft whisper of “I’ll see you through. I’m sorry,” before she left the room. Arthur went to the window. There was space enough for him to sit down on the sill that he had failed to notice before. He sat and looked over the forest. He could see the very same tree line that he had stumbled from only days before.

 “We were outside Morgana’s chambers,” Arthur said to the empty room. “The night before.” Arthur closed his eyes and pressed his head against the wooden frame. He was so glad to be sitting down, otherwise he feared that his legs might give out beneath him. “I should have noticed. I should have thought.”

 It was too painful to dwell. What was done was done. There was going back and changing the past, no matter how much Arthur wanted to. As much as Arthur blamed Guinivere for what had happened—and now he blamed her more than anything else—he also couldn’t help but take some of the blame. It was his fault, after all, that they had been discovered in the first place.

 Jealousy, he thought, was a strange and fickle thing. He was glad that now at least he had seen the last of it.

  **1.10**

 It was from his place on the window sill that Arthur saw Sir Patrick stumbling out of the forest merely hours later.

 Sir Patrick hailed from the foreign lands, the island just across the sea at the last place Arthur had spoken to Merlin, even if it had been in a dream. He was fair and noble, and favoured heavily by the prince of his kingdom. His green eyes were held in an otherwise plain face, and his strawberry blonde hair hung limp in tufts. He introduced himself not to Eva like Arthur had expected, but to him.

 “I am Sir Patrick, of the Foreign Lands,” he said, while staring at Arthur with admiration evident in his eyes. Arthur thought he was only just stopping himself from dropping to his knees and bowing his head. Except, maybe Arthur thought too soon because immediately Sir Patrick dropped to his knees out of respect. “My prince told me of you plight and I am honoured to have been allowed by the gods to be in your presence, my lord. I wish to help you in your valiant fight. My prince gave me to offer to you as much as he could spare. Our foot soldiers, out finest archers, the best knights to be your cavalry. I give them all to you.”

 Arthur was unsure of how to take this. He looked at Eva who looked more amused than uncertain. She nodded her approval with a smile just tugging at her mouth.

 “What’s your house?” Arthur asked.

 “Thomas,” Sir Patrick said excitedly. “I’m the second son of Sir Duncan of Thomas. I’ve was a mercenary first and then a knight under the name of the prince for the past three years, now.”

 “You were trusted with the prince’s army?”

 “I was favoured. The king was reluctant but the prince insisted that you had a noble cause. Magic has been legal in our kingdom for years. We’ve had people flocking to our lands seeking asylum from the kingdoms on our island that still have laws against it.”

 Suddenly Arthur understood. Sir Patrick came from a land of magic. The people of the Foreign Lands believed that Arthur fought in the name of magic and not in the name of love. It was probably better that way. Arthur doubted that anyone would want to fight for him had they known the true core of his rage.

 Arthur found himself with no choice but to accept Sir Patrick’s offer. He was uncertain of exactly what Eva would offer to him now that she knew that he had killed the dragon, especially on top of the large numbers of elves hibernating to save themselves. “Thank you,” he said. “I am honoured by your loyalty to the cause, truly.”

 “It is me who is honoured, sire. You have the makings of a great king with a heart of gold. It would be a shame to see you lose your rights to your kingdom.”

**1.11**

 “I think I’m going insane,” Morgana said. Her brow was creased in a frown and her voice was knitted with stress so great that it shook.

 “Is this about Gwen?” Arthur asked.

 “No, it’s just— this is all so much to take in. I can’t believe our lives could have changed so quickly. Our friends are currently on their way to try and kill us in the name of your father.”

 “I know. I understand completely, Morgana.”

 “I just wish this could have turned out differently. None of us deserved to die like this.”

 “I know,” Arthur said. There was no point in pretending that their deaths weren’t certain. The battle that would come sooner than they had time to prepare for was going to be the death of them all. It would in vain, Arthur was sure of that. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

  **1.12**

It was Arthur, who had fallen asleep outside of Merlin’s chambers, who awoke at the slamming door announcing Morgana’s arrival.

 She shouted, “Arthur! Arthur, wake up! You have to get ready.”

 Eva stormed in behind seconds later. She didn’t even need to touch the doors as they flew open ahead of her.

 “The knights of Camelot fast approach,” she shouted. “They were not been blessed like you were. If we ride out soon then we should meet them before they ever near the Màrnach.”

 “We’re fighting on foreign soil?” Morgana was appalled. “Surely you must know that you can’t just do that.”

 “They were routed to the Northern Lands but even they must have noticed by now. The first forest doesn’t always guide you to the court, you know.”

 Morgana was instantly relieved. Arthur couldn’t feel a thing.

 “Is Sir Patrick aware of this?” he asked.

 “He was there when we found out. He’s taking his men to meet them before they reach the Moray.”

 Arthur couldn’t do anything else but nod in acceptance. He could scarcely believe that this was it. The day of the battle was finally upon him. This could very well be the last day that he ever see alive. Or, in a turn of events that he was absolutely sure no-one was expecting, it could be the day his father fell.

 Eva said something that Arthur couldn’t hear, but he noticed when Morgana leant down to eye level and held his shoulders.

 “I’ll help you with your armour. The faster you’re out there the better,” she said.

 Arthur still couldn’t speak. His mind was so riddled by a fear that he had never felt before. He stood up all the same and walked under Morgana’s guiding hand as he was taken to the armoury. In an hour’s time he would be standing across from the army he had once trained and guided. He knew that their collective strength was greater than any portion of his new shamble of an army.

**1.13**

If there ever was a time for stirring speeches, this would be it. Instead, with Uther’s army only an hour away at most, Arthur was left to make the final preparations for battle.

 Arthur’s sword was returned to him by Eva before she left Arthur, Sir Patrick and her men to fight. (“Do what you can,” she said. “Your bow will carry you well. I’d stay with you but I’ve been away from the court for long enough.” She then gave him his sword, polished and ready for battle. “I wish you could have known what it’s called. When you see him, ask him what it means.” She was gone in the instant of a second, disappearing back through the vale between the worlds like she was never really there at all. Maybe she never had been.)

 Sir Patrick’s men were lined up on horseback, ready to charge when given the order. The elves were behind them in a schiltron formation that Arthur couldn’t doubt himself into thinking would survive the enemy charge. They were laden with swords and few bows, not anything like the elvish armies Arthur had heard of in his youth.

 His army was a mass of well-trained knights and infantry men on Sir Patrick’s part and near untrained foot soldiers that the elves very rarely relied on in battle. Compared to Uther’s army they were outnumbered three to one. A miracle would be needed for Arthur’s men to survive. No prophecy was needed to foresee that a massacre was about to take place.

 When Uther’s army finally came into view, Arthur signalled to Sir Patrick to take a small portion of the cavalry round to attempt to outflank Uther. Andrew, one of Sir Patrick’s most trusted men, also led his own small faction of the cavalry to do the same in place of Arthur. Arthur would stand with the foot soldiers, sword in hand, his bow on his back but already left long behind him.

 Unlike any other like battle Arthur had seen, there were no attempts to reach a truce. The battle was called when the stampede of his father’s cavalry made the ground shake. Then Arthur’s own cavalry charged in attempt to force back the enemy charge. Sir Patrick and Andrew led their men out of view and left the infantry without any protection.

 The two lines of horses crashed into one another, lances hit hard on metal armour and men were thrown off their mounts and down to the sodden ground. Still, Camelot’s knights broke through the barrier and rode on hard.

 Arthur could sense the men around him growing anxious and he understood their worry. He too was jittery with fear. What he was about to do was reckless and self-destructive; there was no way half of them would survive the charge.

 “On me!” Arthur shouted, gripping the hilt of his sword tight. His voice echoing around the battle ground, and with that the men around him let out cries and shouts as they all ran forwards towards the enemy.

 In front of him, Arthur could see the horses getting closer and closer. All around him men were thrown back metres by the sheer force of the impact. Some were impaled on lances or trampled on, others, like Arthur, managed to break through the initial onslaught and were well on their way to face Camelot’s own infantry.

 Soon, the sounds of sword on sword and metal on metal filled the air. The ground was compacted down and covered in blood and rain as the heavens opened. All around Arthur were screams and war cries as man went against man.

 Arthur fought hard; his muscles ached with each swing of his sword as he sent man after man down the ground. He stepped over the bodies of his men and his old friends as he carried on his fight. Nowhere in all of this had he seen the king.

 Out of nowhere the sound of the battle around him lowered into an unearthly hush. The quiet resonated like the impact of sword on bone. In front of him, Arthur could see one blackened, charred figure stand out like no other. It shattered what little hope Arthur had left.

 A knight stood in chain mail that hung down below his knees. Thick black breeches covered his legs. Arthur had never seen a black look so deep and true before, but this knight, from his gambeson to his surcoat with an illegible coat of arms on it, was adorned in it.

 Arthur felt like he has seen this man before. The recognition was slight and sudden. It was impossible to tell who he was as his face had been obscured by a helmet. But surely Arthur would remember meeting a man like this. There was nothing to remember. No memories lay hidden in Arthur’s brain. Still, the feeling of familiarity was strong.

 The knight walked towards Arthur, heavy sword dragging along the ground as he did so. Smoke seemed to follow him as he walked. Arthur, almost afraid enough to turn and run like a coward, tightened his grip on his sword.

When they met in the middle he swung, but the knight blocked him easily. Arthur was almost knocked off his feet with the strength of the blow. He didn’t relent. He swung again and again, each time being blocked by the knight’s easy advances. There was no obvious way out. There was no ally of his around to detract from the knight’s strength and focus. There was nowhere for Arthur to go. If he attempted to run away then he would be struck down. Arthur was doomed.

He kept on fighting back in vain though. Sword hit metal hard and fast and ragged breaths filled the air. The knight blocked each of Arthur’s attacks and then saw advantage in Arthur’s exhaustion and swung his sword back.

Time slowed down around in an all too familiar fashion. The sound of the battle came back like a crash and escalated so much that Arthur could feel nothing else. When the blow of the sword hit him pain too came full force. Winded, he stumbled backwards only to have the knight follow and issue him blow after unavoidable blow. Then finally, when Arthur had given up trying to defend himself, the knight plunged his sword through a break in Arthur’s chain mail and down through the gambeson.

Arthur had tales of the torment of being wounded like this from knights who had barely survived battle. He had never expected such ear splitting pain to radiate through his body. Arthur’s wound throbbed with heat and sticky blood as his heart pounded in his ears. He felt his lungs burning and legs failing him. He screamed out and all the air left his lungs in one drawn out breath. With heavy, sobbing gasps he tried to stem the blood that erupted from him.

The battle was so far away. The blood that came out of him rushed like a waterfall. It ran down his armour like rain did in winter. It was over all too soon. The blood was too much and Arthur was too weak to fight off his death. Wanting peace, he let the darkness on the edges of his vision engulf him completely.

He was calm.


	2. two. avalon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up for pronunciations in 2: Comyn is Common or Coming. Moray is Murrey. The rest is a free fall of however you want it to sound.

**2**

Arthur sat, floating in the vast expanses of nothing all around him, wondering exactly what he could have done differently. He could have been more careful. He could have woken earlier and had a chance to escape. Maybe he should have used the bow that had been given to him. He would have had to have lived a life alone, with the remnants of a destiny that had never been, but he would have had his revenge. He could have stood by his father’s side. He could have killed his father when he had the change. Before that, even, he could have not allowed his temptations to take hold. If he could have never loved Merlin, then none of this would ever have been…

But no. What had been had happened. There was no changing anything now that he was so far away from it all that it barely meant anything. He still loved Merlin. The fever of his love still burned him to the core. It was a different kind of burning. The pleasant kind. The type of pain that reminded him so much of living.

Did being in Avalon count as living?

There was no doubt that Avalon was where he was. It was as clear to him as the blank white space around him. His life was to be spent in the clouds, away from the world, maybe even away from Merlin. Even that option of reality was strangely comforting. The desire of peace in the vast emptiness was as much of a requiem as Arthur was ever going to get.

Then, almost in a blink of an eye, it all changed in front of him.

Tall white walls spread out around him and white painted wood sprawled out beneath him. A ceiling formed beneath his head and his feet felt the effects of his weight and he touched the ground once again. He felt almost human underneath the bright white ethereal light.

His clothes were fresh linens too. Gone was the heavy weight of his chain mail and the stiffness of his gambeson. He felt no pull of wounds as he moved or any ache of bruises beneath his shirt. It was like he had been born again into a brand new world. He couldn’t believe for one second that winning the battle would have felt better than this. There was no anxious rush of knowing he would have to lead Camelot at the fresh young age of nineteen. There was no pressure on his shoulders and nothing left to worry him. It was heavenly, to the pun.

His quarry was over. He had lost. His father lived on but without an heir was left with nothing but a rule filled with fear and hate. Arthur knew that he should have been angry that his father lived on without the true depth of knowledge of the damage he had done. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than the calm that had washed over him.

“You know, if you had used the bow the gods gave you then you would have won. I was assured as much when I came here,” a voice said.

Arthur instantly through himself around to see Merlin standing there. His body had no scars or burns. He was even wearing clothing similar to Arthur’s own.

“I can’t say I’m not pleased to see you, though,” he carried on.

Arthur rushed over to Merlin and pulled him into a bone crushing hug. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “Gods know that I missed you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know,” Merlin mumbled against Arthur’s neck. “I missed you too, you idiot. I was with you every step of the way. I never left your side, not once.”

He pulled back so he could kiss Arthur. It had been weeks since they had last seen each other, but it felt like years to Arthur.

“Do you know how slowly time passes here?” Merlin said when he pulled back. “I thought you’d just go on living forever while I wasted away waiting for you.”

“Were you acting like a maiden?” Arthur smiled despite the tears that were slowly rolling down his face. “Were you a damsel that needed rescuing by a noble prince? Because I’m here now.”

“Some shoddy attempt at a rescue, you got yourself killed in the process. I’d much rather have stayed trapped in my tower.”

It was good to see that even in death Merlin hadn’t lost his sense of humour.

Merlin was still holding on tight to Arthur, and Arthur himself didn’t see any reason for either one of them to ever let go. They had their eternity to spend in Avalon together, and yet Arthur didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.

Merlin smiled again. “You’re still an idiot. You were meant to fight with the bow. You were meant to stay aside and win, but you decided to be a noble arse and fight beside your men.”

“I didn’t— What?”

Merlin laughed and kissed Arthur again. “I fixed things for you. I spoke to the Gods and made sure they would do something help you get your kingdom back from your father. Instead you decided to prove yourself a hero by fighting with the infantry. No matter what I seem to do you always get yourself back in trouble.”

“I would never have done any different. You gave me the sword to fight with.”

“I gave you the bow, too. Just through Mercutio.”

“But my sword—”

“A bow with which you killed a dragon. A bloody dragon. You did the impossible and killed a dragon with a bow and arrow, and yet you still refused to fight with anything but your sword. Surely that should have been the main indicator that the bow was the only way you were going to win.”

Merlin had a point. Dragons were creatures of magic, even in the weakened state that the dragon Arthur had faced was in. Nothing should have been able to kill a dragon, bar maybe a weapon crafted in Avalon.

“It was an omen,” Arthur realised.

“Maybe,” Merlin smiled. “But you don’t you go telling just anyone. I had to lose something too in order for my body to have gone with you. Apparently losing my life wasn’t enough of a sacrifice.”

“You’re a dragonlord.”

Merlin smiled, Arthur really could be an idiot sometimes.

“Hey,” Merlin said. “It’s okay. I’m not angry with you. I agreed to what the gods had chosen for you to face. It was my decision too.”

Arthur was silent for a few moments before he finally spoke again. “What if I didn’t want to win?”

“Against the dragon?” Merlin looked confused.

“No, against my father. What if I wanted to lose on the off chance that I could be here with you.”

Merlin’s faced crumpled. “Oh, Arthur,” he sounded absolutely heartbroken. Arthur felt guilty for having said anything. “Don’t you ever do anything like that ever again. I’m not worth any of that. You would have ended up here one day anyway. The gods would never have denied you Avalon for something that was out of your hands.”

Arthur felt stupid. It was more for having said anything to Merlin about it. “I don’t think I could have lived without you for a second longer. Call us a tragedy, I don’t care. Let them write about us like they wrote about the Greeks. I just took a quick route out. I was clever about it all.”

“You gave up everything.”

“And I’d give it up all over again. Just for you. Only for you.”

“I only wish I could have known that before I died. I would have done my best to stay alive if I knew.”

Merlin stepped back and let his hands drop so they were holding Arthur’s hands instead clutching tightly at his arms. He did so just as the air around them began to move. The walls of the room they were in began to expand and change. The floor changed from white wood to dark stone. Large windows looking out over nothing appeared in the high walls on either side of the room. The ceiling lowered, the bright white light faded and was instead replaced with the much more familiar yellow glow of torches and a roaring fire.

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hands. Not liking how everything around them could change so easily without a moment’s notice.

A shadowy figure appeared, sat atop a rich coloured desk. He was clad in a deep tunic and fur coat with purple silk in the lining. He was dressed like a trophy for the money he would have owned when he was alive. He was young and beautiful, with a silver aura radiating from him. His eyes were green like a cat’s and his hair unnaturally pale. Still, he looked golden and gorgeous like the picture of a king.

The man turned slightly so that Arthur could see his face more in profile and immediately Arthur recognised him. Zachariah, one of the most powerful of the gods, was sitting mere feet away from him.

Merlin was transfixed. His eyes were full of displeasure and he instinctively stepped closer to Arthur as if to protect him.

“You know who he is?” Merlin asked quietly.

“I could never forget,” Arthur replied.

“He never spoke to me once,” Merlin whispered. Maybe that was a sign. If Zachariah, the God of War and Fate had been unwilling to speak to the most powerful mortal man then something must have been horribly wrong.

“I can hear you, you know,” Zachariah drew out his words. His voice was cold, deep and nasally. But it had a warmth to it that Arthur couldn’t trust.

Merlin shrank back but Arthur remained still.

“You should consider yourself lucky to have conversed with any God. Most mortals will never so much as see one of us, let alone be allowed counsel with so many.”

“We’re not like the others,” Merlin said.

“No, you’re not,” Zachariah agreed. “You failed.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Arthur said. Immediately Arthur knew it was the wrong thing to say because Zachariah tore his eyes away from his hands to stare at Arthur.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter? I’m sorry. Was I mistaken when I felt the magic begin to leave the earth? Was I mistaken when the world began to crack when you chose your sword above the bow we crafted for Mercutio to hold? Was I mistaken when everything began to collapse after you died? I’m sorry. Of course. None of that must matter now simply because you’re here in Avalon with the love of your life. Do you know how sick this is? People are dying. Your friends are dying and all you could think about was yourself.” Zachariah paused to rest his head briefly in his hands. He let out huffing breaths as he tried to regain his composure. “Don’t you dare think,” he continued. “That just because you’re here with us now that you get off easy. Don’t think for a second that you don’t have to fix this.”

“I didn’t mean for this,” Arthur began.

“Of course you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But does that change what happened? No, it doesn’t. You will pay the price for your wrongdoings.”

“What’s going to happen to Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, don’t think for a second that you get off Scot-free. You two should just consider yourselves lucky that the other Gods spoke to me before I could be too rash. I was originally just going to make you live through all of that time and time again until you got it right, but Thanos and Cameron, even Raphael, who is not as much of a god like me might I add, convinced me otherwise.”

Neither Merlin or Arthur spoke. Zachariah waited a few seconds, obviously hoping for someone other than him to say something. When nothing was said he sighed and carried on.

“You’re going to live every life you’ve ever dreamed of, and more beyond that. Every new life you live will be an attempt for you to fix everything that went wrong. When you’re ready you’ll return to Camelot once more to face your final battle all over again. Neither one of you will remember any of this until you come back. Despite what you’ve done to destiny, I can’t help but want to wish you luck.”

Zachariah seemed oddly human. Arthur couldn’t help but admire it. He was perhaps the most powerful God in all of Avalon and he had still granted them enough forgiveness for them to try and fix the mess they had made. His mess, a voice in Arthur’s head couldn’t help but say. Arthur could still have ruled even if Merlin had died.

Before he could voice his thanks, the room around them began to fade once again and Avalon once more became the endless white it had been when Arthur had first arrived. Zachariah was the very last thing to leave, smiling as he went. Behind where he had been sitting was a range of mountains haloed by cloud and echoed in a mirror like sun.

“The home of the Gods,” Merlin whispered. “We’re really here.” He faded into white and Arthur was left standing, looking into the endless sun as he waited for his new life to greet him.

**2.1**

Arthur awoke to find a new day awaiting him. The sun came in like golden streams through the window. The curtains were left hanging open from the drunk night before. It was summer and the sun was already hung high. The entire castle would be lazy still with drink and hangovers. All wonderful souvenirs left over from the night before.

“I’m sure there will be some bastards too,” Merlin said. His voice was laden with sleep and came seemingly out of nowhere. He was muffled by the blankets he was curled under. Merlin had this uncanny ability to know what Arthur was thinking. “They’re the best type of souvenir,” he continued.

Merlin’s head emerged from the blankets and was rested on the pillow instead. Arthur pulled the blankets down just enough so that he could see the bare skin of Merlin’s back.

They had almost gotten caught again last night, probably. Somewhere along the way Arthur remembered stumbling into a wall or an alcove or something. He was only certain that Merlin had been hot beneath him, pushing and tugging at clothes. Arthur loved the way Merlin when he was like that. With the torch light making his eyelashes cast shadows over his skin. It was almost too much, the painful beauty Merlin embodied. He was sharp and angular, but then lean and graceful like an archer. It was juxtaposition; his grace and beauty set against the way his bones jutted out from beneath his skin.

Underneath the mid-morning sun Merlin was just as beautiful. His pale skin looked like white gold; warm and inviting. His hair was thick and longer than it used to be. It curled round tight behind his ears, heavy and deep black. Deeper than anything Arthur had ever seen.

“You should get breakfast,” Arthur said. He was reluctant to let Merlin leave the peace of his chambers. Outside was responsibility, and hardship, and the fear of God that once shattered Arthur’s bones.

Merlin huffed but pushed himself up on his elbows all the same. He turned to face Arthur. His fringe was ruffled, his face dented by pillow marks and his eyes creased with sleep. He looked perfect though, all awry because of Arthur.

“You tried to woo me in front of the whole court yesterday,” his voice sounded like summer. It was a playful tone. One rusted over with sleep and happiness, despite the accusations that lied within his words.

Arthur was too well rested, too warm and fearless, to flush with embarrassment. No doubt, later he would suffer the consequences. A curse caught deep, uttered and thrown out under Uther’s hand. And God, how Uther was a curse enough.

“I did?” Was all Arthur could say.

Merlin nodded. A thin smile spreading over his lips. “It was rather heroic, actually.”

With that, Merlin crawled out of bed. The oak floor creaked only slightly as he stood. He stretched, then wandered over to where his clothes were bunched up by the table, in fact underneath the table.

“They’ll think you were here last night.” He nodded towards the window.

“Let them think,” Arthur replied.

Merlin didn’t react. As if Arthur had said nothing at all. Arthur and Merlin were both young, strapping lads, as they had been told many times before. Maybe Merlin less so strapping. But still, Arthur was not long enough to surpass the expectations of his title. He would marry someone soon, someone beautiful. A girl.

Merlin stood blessed underneath the light that came pouring on through. He was as defiant as ever in his simple refusal to acknowledge Arthur’s future.

“I’ll get breakfast.” Merlin said. The atmosphere cracked at the sound of Merlin’s voice. The weight of it all sent splinters through the air. Arthur could feel them. He could feel the lazy arrows bounce off his bare arms. He could feel it all wavering above him. All that was needed was one more word to knock the balance. “I’ll see if the bishop has brought any news.”

And there it was. It preyed on him. The arrows pushed deep into his chest setting his lungs out of action. Arthur heart spasmed against the foreign force. The sudden wound that stayed it so made Arthur once.

There was rain on Arthur’s face. Rain like he had never felt before. Blue and silver crept behind his eyes, hiding any golden spark that had once been there. There was beauty in amongst it all too. All the sin. All that chaos. Emerging now was something far greater than Arthur he could scarcely understand it.

Arthur felt immortal in his love. It was in the lines that touched his father’s face that showed it the most. It was the wear on Merlin’s hands. It was the bright blue crackle of Merlin’s eyes. It was in the way Arthur’s own hair shone like gold thread. It was in his own sin that Arthur could not leave it behind. One day there would be records written, if they weren’t already, of Arthur, son of Uther Draig Lord of Moray being impotent. Any rumours of Arthur’s immortal sin would be brushed aside with his father’s power craze. It was the power that sweet talked for Uther.

Arthur laid himself back down on the bed. He stared up at the canopy of the four poster and wondered how he could possibly be so lucky. No-one seemed to care beyond Arthur's age as to why he hadn't married. Any Lord who came to stay was under the impression that Uther only wanted his first heir to marry the best he possibly could. There was no indication, not even for a fraction of a second that there was anything wrong with Uther's son.

Then there was Merlin, a loyal but simple servant, who proved all those thoughts wrong. He was either an idiot or a genius. Nothing lay in between those two extremes. He was loyal and fierce, unlike any man Arthur had ever seen. Arthur knew there would be no-one else like him for as long as they lived. And Arthur needed him. He respected him more than he did his father or his brothers. Merlin’s blood didn’t make him deserving. If his veins were cut his blood wouldn’t run blue. He was the ice to Arthur’s fire. The calm before the storm.

Arthur was nothing special in comparison. He held no power over his father’s duchy. He was nothing without his father’s status. But moreover, he was nothing without Merlin and the common touch they shared. Merlin appeared on a blitzing hot summer’s day when Arthur was nine. His mother had just died and Merlin was there to help fill the space she left behind. Merlin was there when Arthur began to train to be a knight. He stood laughing behind pillars when Arthur was paraded in front of the assessing eyes of noblemen and their daughters. He was there, stealing ale from the kitchens, when Arthur got truly pissed for the first time. They drank rancid beer together, fumbled in the stables when they could find nowhere else to go.

They sneaked out at night once when they were still just boys short of responsibility. They rode their horses until they were lost in the depths of the forest and no-one could find them until the morning. The household was a mess. Uther was sick with worry and the guards were flogged. Arthur was young and careless. Merlin made him feel free.

There was a time before all the righteousness. A time so alien and confused that it felt like another life when looking back on it. Arthur was fourteen and had fallen into bed with Merlin for the first time. It was more than just an experimental kiss to sway the nerves. It was far more than the meaningless fucks that the knights in the garrison had talked of. It was horrifying. It was harsh and overbearing, and it left Arthur crying in the middle of the bed while Merlin held him close.

Confession would lead to castration or excommunication. The priest never found out what horrible thing he had done. Arthur laid out his own penance. He fasted until his cheeks hollowed and he could barely walk from hunger. Merlin was still there, caring for him. It was then that Arthur realised the Church must have been wrong.

“How can loving you be so unholy?” Arthur had asked. It had been the first thing he had said to anyone in weeks.

Merlin let out a sharp intake of breath. “It’s God’s will,” Merlin said.

“I don’t think he’s right,” Arthur said. Merlin’s eyes were wide. “I think they’re all wrong.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Merlin said.

“I don’t think it can be. Here with you, nothing else has ever felt so right. I think He must want me to love you.”

Merlin didn’t say anything else. He just pressed his against Arthur’s head for a fleeting moment. Arthur had fallen asleep soon after. Merlin left quietly and went back to the servant’s quarters.

Things were taut from then on. The uncomfortable silences had lasted for months until finally Arthur kissed Merlin underneath a blossom tree.

Years had passed since then. Now Arthur and Merlin both were far older. Arthur was no longer nervous or uneasy. He had grown into himself and his expectations. Merlin had gained a quiet cleverness. An intelligence that echoed in the valley where they lived.

Merlin came barging into the room holding a heavily laden tray. There was enough food to feed an army.

Merlin sighed when he saw Arthur. “Oh, of course,” he said. “You’re still in bed. I should have guessed. Come on. Get up. I got leftovers from the feast.”

“Do you have news?” Arthur asked as he got up and walked to where he had left his clothes the night before.

Merlin frowned as he went about setting the table. “Very good news indeed.” He waited until Arthur was seated before sitting down himself. “I am now the bearer of news that our crops are well on the way to a successful harvest, the taxes have been collected, and you are not the only one to have disgraced yourself. Your father did, long after you went to bed.”

“I really don’t want to know,” Arthur interrupted. “Is there anything else? Something from the bishop?”

Merlin looked thoughtful as he looked at a point just above Arthur’s head. Merlin smiled. “There’s nothing else left to tell.” He took a piece of peacock off of Arthur’s plate. Arthur only half tried to bat Merlin’s hand away.

“You’re lying.”

“You don’t even trust me. See if I tell you now.”

“I’ll relieve you from your duties. I’ll find another servant boy to woo and—”

“Robert Bruce has been made king,” Merlin relaxed into his chair.

Arthur was dumbfounded. He knew that this would happen one day but he never thought it would be so soon.

Merlin carried on, “the Countess of Buchan carried out the inauguration. It’s been backed by the Church and everything.”

“Good god,” Arthur grinned. “Does my father know?”

“He’s livid. It might be the alcohol, but I heard that the messenger who bore the news ran from his chambers as quickly as he came.”

Uther was Comyn by blood but too cowardly to ever defy the English king. He had sent no troops Sterling or Falkirk. He preferred to stay neutral and wax poetic about both Edward and Balliol’s superiority. A Bruce as a King would simply not do.

They ate on in relative silence but Arthur found it hard to do anything but pick lamely at his food. His stomach churned with excitement and nerves. An inevitable war would come as Edward would not stand for this. In the meantime, however, Arthur’s future was looking bolder with every day.

“He’ll head west,” Arthur said when Merlin was clearing the plates away. “Edward will never let this pass.”

Merlin hummed. “Are you going to join him?”

“It depends on what my father does. It will take a dungeon to stop me from doing what is right.”

Merlin didn’t reply. Merlin was one of the few members of the household that didn’t seem to care about who the King was. He was a common man, a peasant in a King’s court. It was only recently that Merlin’s interests were peaked. Perhaps partially due to Arthur’s ever growing defiance towards his father. Maybe it was Morgana’s engagement that prompted Merlin’s slight interest in the war.

If Arthur left to fight for Bruce, or whichever man stood to claim the throne, then Merlin would have more time before seeing Arthur wed. Arthur’s blood was Comyn. No Comyn nobleman would want to see their daughter wed to a betrayer, and Uther’s pride was far too big to let Arthur marry a Bruce.

War left Arthur without a wife but he was far from alone in the world. It was Merlin who would be cast aside when the war finally ended. It was selfish of him to think it, but his only interest was in his own life. He loved Arthur, truly, and it was because of that that Merlin understood his place. He was a servant, and easily replaceable.

“Your father will want to speak to you today, My Lord,” Merlin said.

“Indeed. Fetch me my red shirt when you’re done, would you? Maybe family colours will shake some sense into him.”

“Very specific. It’s not like you have a lot of red shirts.”

“No, no the one with the sleeves. You know the one.”

“I really don’t. Everything in your wardrobe fits that description.”

“You're really not trying, are you?”

Merlin smiled. “You're being difficult. No-one likes you when you're being difficult.”

Arthur shook his head. “I honestly don't know why I keep you around. All you do is insult me.”

It only took three tries before Merlin found the “right” shirt, despite all of them looking exactly the same. Arthur just liked to annoy Merlin in all the little ways.

**2.2**

Arthur in fact, did have to speak with his father. He had long since been uncomfortable with Arthur’s closeness with Merlin. It was rather insulting, that his father would make such unbelievable— and entirely truthful, there was no point in denying it now he was so far gone— accusations.

“Now,” Uther said, shifting uncomfortably from where he was sitting behind his desk. A strained look adorning his face. “I have heard rumour of certain… certain escapades between you and your manservant.”

Arthur laughed from the shock of it. A squeal and violent fumbling against the wood of the door sounded. That would be Merlin, listening with his ear pressed against the door as usual. There were always rumours going around but they never escalated into anything worthy of Uther’s intervention. His father looked stricken.

“It would be wise if you took these sorts of things more seriously,” Uther began again. “This could damage your chances of a successful marriage.”

“It might help if you knew the name of the person you wanted me to marry.” Arthur knew he had overstepped when his father shot him a look. “There’s nothing going on between Merlin and I. The servants must like to get carried away with the responsibilities of his position.”

Uther didn’t even try to reply to Arthur’s first remark. “I am sure you will do your best to put these rumours to rest,” was what he said instead of a reply.

Arthur nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression.” He bowed, only half mockingly this time, and left in quick strides.

He came face to face with Merlin who let out a shout as he came stumbling forwards onto his knees. The door had been his only support. Obviously, it was just as Merlin was eye level with Arthur’s crotch that a servant rounded the corner.

"You know," Arthur said, grabbing Merlin by the sleeve and pulling him up off the ground with some force. "This really isn't what my father meant by putting any rumours to rest."

Merlin only looked blank when Arthur shoved him again to start walking. They were heading towards the drawbridge.

“What do you mean there’s nothing going on between you and me?” Merlin said when they were out of earshot.

Arthur knew that Merlin wasn’t being serious but he still couldn’t find it within himself to play along. “It was a lie, Merlin. Surely you of all people should have known. Anyway, I doubt telling my father the truth would be any good for either one of us.”

And maybe it didn’t help that a little while later Arthur kissed Merlin beneath his favourite apple tree. It was worth a try, he figured. It did leave them lying in the shade of the tree with sunlight dappled across their chests. Merlin’s skin looked smooth and pure underneath the hot sun. Arthur couldn’t help wanting to touch everything he could see.

It was cruel to think that so many thought Arthur’s actions to be unholy. How could anything greater than him hate Arthur’s love for Merlin? It felt so right, so natural. Merlin’s body fit against Arthur’s like a puzzle piece. Their hands intertwined by themselves in a way that might as well have been a noose around their necks. It was Arthur’s downfall. But his stomach dropped when he woke up with Merlin next to him.

“You’re thinking,” Merlin said sleeping. He batted softly at Arthur’s head before kissing him. “You should really stop that.”

Arthur smiled. Merlin really was like a summer’s day. He was all warm, slow and soft stretched out beneath the tree. Arthur didn’t try and move for fear of dislodging what he had found. Instead he settled his head down upon his arms and closed his eyes. Someone would come and find them. More rumours would spread. Or else Arthur would get up and do it all by himself.

**2.3**

Arthur remembers being a boy, scared and hiding behind his mother’s legs, when he was in Sterling once. He had been watching the execution of a dark haired, lanky boy accused of witchcraft. All Arthur could think of at the tender age of six, was how that boy had been someone’s brother; a mother’s son. Uther had pulled him out from the folds of Igraine’s skirt and pushed him close to the balcony. He stood then next to King Alexander, not tall enough to see over the wall. Arthur was forced instead to look through the narrow gaps.

“May this be a lesson to you all,” Alexander boomed. Arthur cried when the axe dropped. He screamed out for the boy he didn’t know.

Back inside Arthur threw himself at his nursemaid’s son who he had only met once before. Arthur cling to him like he had been under the axe.

He could remember Alexander speaking to his father. “It is no worry,” he had said. “He’ll come to understand the importance of this in time.”

Arthur was far older when he wondered if Alexander had ever understood the importance of his actions. Igraine had died in labour while giving birth to another healthy son. Alexander had lost his wife, sons and daughter in turn until he was left with nothing. He had been thrown off his horse when travelling to see his new wife. He had been left heirless and left the country in turmoil. Maybe it had been burning witches that was wrong. Alexander had been punished more than any man Arthur had met. Arthur himself had journeyed through life free from any misgivings.

Maybe his time was soon approaching.

**2.4**

“I’m sure you could ensure a new golden age. You’re proud and brilliant. What better man is there than you to be king?” Merlin wiped away invisible dust from the table.

“There’s nothing kingly about me. I have better chance of becoming King of England than I do Scotland.”

“You’ve probably better luck, too,” Merlin replied. Then, “You’re very kingly, my lord. You’re very noble and just. You’d be far better than King John.”

But King John had been a disaster of a man. He was a mere puppet on the throne. His reluctance to revolt was the pathway for Edward’s rule. “Merlin, I think even you could do a damn sight better than King John ever did.”

Merlin grinned. “Of course. I’d have you to guide me from the shadows. At least my puppeteer would be a Scot.” Merlin paused and took a shuddering breath. “Your father wants the best for the kingdom.”

Arthur massaged his shoulder with his hand. He set back in his chair and closed his eyes so as to not look at Merlin. “I’m not in line.”

Merlin shifted. He stopped what he was doing. There was still a slight rustling of clothes, like the sound of wind charms that adorned him. “You’re of Comyn blood. You’re powerful enough. He’s sure— we all are—that you will lead great armies before your fall.”

Uther was a weak man. A shallow former shadow of himself. He had been installed at Moray by Edward but before that he had been a lord in his own right. Now he was a puppet, playing to the tune of whatever his master demanded of him. Arthur would only become King if Uther convinced Edward of it. Edward was not to be pushed. Then there was Robert Bruce who stood out against any other man. He was newly crowned king. He had the power of the church, of the lady Buchan who inaugurated him. He was a far braver and greater man than Arthur was.

Uther was slowly maddening if he had thought of Arthur as an eligible heir to the throne. Merlin had said it often enough since John had been crowned. Merlin always said outlandish things. I wanted to see Arthur in nothing less than the highest crown. Uther was mad. Insanity seeping through his brain until he saw things of Arthur that never could be.

“My father is wrong,” Arthur said. “There will be no armies. No men who will ever stand behind me.” He opened his eyes. He looked at Merlin and Merlin was looking right on back as if he could see right through Arthur. “I stand with Bruce. No Comyn blood of mine shall prevent my standing.”

**2.5**

The Comyn revolt against Bruce dragged on. It saw Bruce and his band of followers go fleetingly from one castle to the next. Each face he saw—each one a friend he had served with—repaid him with betrayal.

Sometimes the news came from Arthur’s father, who he saw less and less with each passing day. The more news Uther gave the more frustrated he saw Arthur become. Uther’s loyalty to Balliol, to Edward, to anyone, was unwavering. Arthur’s defiance was a threat. It would end with Arthur’s death and Uther’s position being renounced. Mostly Arthur was brought news from Merlin, whose words were vibrant and colourful. They were full of hope, trust and the more important trust Arthur needed to hear.

Some day soon Merlin would bring news of Bruce’s approach. Then Arthur would leave. He had the trust of the local knights and infantry, they would all happily follow Arthur to their graves. Most were Comyn by blood. Even Merlin, if you cut his veins deep enough, would have blue in his blood somewhere. When the call to fight comes Arthur would ride out without the help of his men. He'd save them the disgrace of fighting for a man who they had only qualms with. There was no question about Merlin’s place in all of this.

A week later Arthur sat at his breakfast table, watching Merlin’s hand go back and forth over his sword. Merlin polished quickly, as skilled as a blacksmith and moreso than any man in the armoury. Merlin was the only man who Arthur allowed to touch his armour and weaponry. No-one else managed to hold Arthur’s trust with such strength.

“I’ll ride out tomorrow,” Arthur said. Merlin didn’t even flinch at the sound. He didn’t speak either. Arthur thought he just hadn’t heard.

Merlin flipped the sword over in his hands and carried on polishing. The cloth was well used to his touch and he was well used to the grooves of the sword. When he was finished he took a lingering glance to check that he had not missed anything. The sword was a masterpiece of metal. It fit, beautifully, into the grand framework of the machine Arthur built. Merlin sheathed the sword and set it down on the table. He looked at Arthur then, his irises barely grazing his eyelashes as he did so. He didn’t quite meet Arthur’s eyes.

Merlin spoke, “You’ll postpone the wedding.”

Arthur stiffened, Just the word was enough to set him on edge. “Whose?”

“Morgana’s.”

Oh, well then. Of course. How could Arthur have forgotten? “I suppose it’s for the best.”

Yes. It would set everything off kilter. It was glorious. A loose bolt in the siege engines Uther used against him.

“I am with you,” Merlin said. “Always.”

Arthur didn’t doubt.

**2.6**

In the morning they woke before the castle did and rode out in relative silence. Despite the situation (a country in the midst of civil war, no less) they went without any urgency. When night fell late they had made only small progress. They made camp in a small tent beside a burnt out fire. They lied on thin mattresses curled in towards one another. Their hands and arms overlapped. There were spun together like a spider web. Unbreaking.

Their faces were close, just mere inches apart. Merlin’s breath came out in puffs against Arthur’s lips.

“Does your father know why we’re gone?” Merlin asked some time closer to sunrise than sunset.

Arthur blinks his eyes up, away from looking at Merlin’s mouth to instead look him in the eye.

“He’ll have guessed one reason or another.”

Neither of them mentioned the night before.

They had been too cautious for far too long, then all of a sudden not at all cautious enough. They were tipsy. Drunk—overwhelmed— and in love. Then they were caught red handed—tongue-tied and flushed—in the corridors. A maid’s loose lips would sink the ship they had built for themselves. So they ran early in the morning, choosing not to sleep or to explain their real reason for leaving to Uther. They had long left the orchards in the castle grounds by the time the earliest rooster would have called. By the time the castle was normally awake they were already halfway out the duchy.

They ran away for Bruce, for the kingdom they believed in and for what little dignity they had left.

“That was your fault,” Merlin whispered, breaking Arthur from his memories. _I’m always keeping secrets._

Arthur’s shoulders began to shake. His lungs felt full suddenly and his vision swelled into blurs. “Yes,” he could barely hear himself speak.

Arthur had put the nail in both their coffins. They were runaways, outlaws as far as Arthur’s duchy was concerned. There was nowhere else Arthur possibly thought they could go to.

**2.7**

They rode on through yet another forest. Or maybe it was the same one. Arthur had never really noticed an end to the trees but they got more sparing and set out much more randomly as the day passed him by. Arthur was dressed in what armour he had—plates covering from the bottom of his sternum to his shoulder on either side, gauntlets on both arms, a thick gambeson underneath his mail. A helmet sat on his head, precariously out of place. Merlin was much more simply dressed. He wore mail handed down from when Arthur was younger and slimmer. He had borrowed one of Arthur’s extra gambesons and had stolen a helmet from the armoury as they left. Merlin had shoddily made gauntlets protecting his wrists. Arthur wanted to take Merlin’s and exchange them with his own. But Merlin would see no battle. He was there to accompany Arthur on his feet, no more, no less. It would be suicide on both their parts. Merlin held no place on the battlefield.

The forest finally cleared out and gave way to a path leading up the side of a mountain. It was just big enough for two men to ride side by side with room for another to pass them by. It was nowhere one wanted to be caught by surprise. It was there that Arthur first saw Bruce. He carried himself like a son of God. He was a man defined by holiness. His position was granted by a desperate church. Bruce headed a small group of men. There were at most thirty men, all dressed in armour and all travelling by horse. They were Bruce's only faithfuls. Bruce was a King by any right, but he was one without an army. He was a weak King by his defects.

Arthur was still far less grand. He stopped his horse opposite Bruce's in a mirror image. Except Arthur had no-one behind him. Merlin had brought his horse to rest beside Arthur's but he was no seasoned warrior. There was no time for Arthur to think about how it must have looked. Now was finally Arthur's time and it was full of the repercussions of a fall from grace.

Bruce was speaking but Arthur could barely hear it. His blood was too busy rushing through his ears.

“Our names,” Merlin hissed. “Tell him our names.”

There were a few small laughs from Bruce's men.

When Arthur caught his breath enough to speak his words came out in rushed. They were all pushed together and slurred into one. “I am Arthur, son of Lord Moray. I wish to fight for you.”

Bruce looked almost surprised. “I have heard of you. I know Alexander favoured your father well.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes. I met him once but I was just a boy.”

Arthur could see Bruce hesitating. It was a brief uncertainty that brought Arthur back down to earth. They were both men born equal but raised to different heights.

“Alexander would make sure to meet with all the nobles each year. The last time I saw him he spoke of you. You managed to make quite the impression.” Bruce paused again to regain his composure and all at once his kingliness was drawn back into him. “Who is your friend?”

Arthur looked at Merlin. He was squinting as he looked at Bruce where the sun was casting white rings behind the King. The white reached Merlin, the shadows instead choosing to fall on Arthur, and he was made heavenly. It was like an epiphany came but left Arthur with no new knowledge just a brand new sense of feeling. There was no urgency. No need to make a sound or play it safe. And it was all there inside of Arthur. It was hidden in amongst the way he kissed Merlin and the way he pretended he didn't.

“His name is Merlin, and he is my friend.” The words felt like a curse being lifted but it bruised Arthur all the same.

Bruce spoke to Merlin now. “Do you fight?”

“Not if I can help it, sire.” Merlin shrugged.

Bruce let out a hearty laugh. A loud and mighty sound. “I like you, the both of you.” A few titters went around the crowd. “You two can talk to Bedivere in the back. We'll need all the help we can get.”

\---

Unused to sharing themselves with other people, they forbade the tent that night. Still, they slept close, mattresses just millimetres from overlapping, as far from the camp fire as possible.

In the morning Bruce cornered Arthur while Merlin was packing away their bed rolls.

“Tell me,” Bruce began. “What does your father make of you being here?” It was a simple question. More rhetorical than anything else. It was worth so much more than Bruce meant.

Arthur could hear it in Bruce’s voice. The eternal question any man would have asked. Your father is Comyn by blood when you are not. How could you possibly reply? Why would Arthur ever fight for someone his family hates? Robert Bruce as King represented the Comyn failing. The Comyn King had been a fool. He was an idiot who led Scotland to be crushed underneath Edward’s grasp. John didn’t share the family name, but nor did Arthur. Their shared failings were meant to be masked by their names. A Comyn would never betray their name, but a Balliol, a Draig. Well, that is another matter. They share but blood, not heart.

“We ran away,” Arthur answered, his words barely scraping anything more than a whisper. “My father doesn’t know the real reason why we left.”

With that Arthur had said too much. He had been far too trusting. We ran away. In those three meaningless words was the paranoid indicator of Arthur’s sin. Bruce had ran away too but from the people of his kingdom who were in revolt against his rule. He ran from the Comyns for fear of the death of the rebellion.. He ran from his distant family for fear of betrayal. He ran from the English, for fear of Edward’s wrath. But he also ran with the faith of the Church behind him.

Arthur was the polar opposite, He ran from God’s anger instead of with it. His father and the law stood united with God against him. Worst of all, he couldn’t go down by himself. He had to drag Merlin into all of this with him. He had to ruin two lives instead of just his own. There was no dignity in Arthur’s descent. It was not at all like Bruce’s path. There was nothing kingly that could be tied to Arthur.

Bruce looked on at Arthur, seeing right through him. Arthur’s very thoughts were thrown down onto page after page, waiting to be read all over again.

“You’re fond of him?” Bruce asked.

Arthur saw Merlin across the clearing talking to a squire. He was smiling as he spoke, half hidden behind Bruce’s hair.

“As much as I allow myself to be,” Arthur said. It was a lie. A filthy, unforgivable lie.

Bruce didn’t question Arthur’s word. He shook his head and didn’t look at Arthur again.

“Let’s hope you’re as good a fighter as you think you are.”

With that Bruce upped and left to talk with someone who’s name Arthur didn’t care to grasp.

No apparent condemnation. A miracle. Arthur was running out of time.

**2.8**

They followed the wind to Argyll. Never daring to stay in the same place for more than a day while out in the open. Edward’s primary Lieutenant in Scotland led the army chasing Bruce across the country. Valance was no fantastic general by any means but he was what Edward thought Scotland deserved. A harsh man. A Bastard of a man. It wasn’t the greatest English army either but it was English, so therefore great.

Argyll was Comyn to the bone but Bruce had nearly run out of options. He was a man on the run, surrounded by men who had lost their positions and their land. They rode on through village after the village. Arthur rode at the rear of the group, Merlin in front of him, with Bedivere to his right. He could see grey faces watching them run with each village they passed through.

Bruce had killed John Comyn not long before. The peasants didn't care what Bruce had done. They didn't care who was king, either, as long as it wasn't Edward. But John Comyn's death had struck a nerve in their Lord. A group of boys, barely teenagers, dropped their work when they saw who was approaching. They ran off behind houses out of view.

Arthur called out for Merlin to fall back beside him. Bedivere paid no noticed except for moving over slightly so there was more room for Merlin to slot in between them. There was a frown set deep on Bedivere's face.

“You saw the boy's?” he asked.

“Indeed,” Arthur replied. “MacDougal has holdings just over the hill. It's quicker if you don't take the road.”

Bedivere look resigned. “You know the country here well?”

Arthur did. There was no reason trying to hide Arthur's family ties, not when every man in the group was paranoid that Arthur was just a rat waiting to betray them.

“My father trained with him when they were younger. He took me to visit more when my mother was alive. We stopped coming a year or two after.” Arthur didn't want to give too much away. He liked some of his childhood unquestioned by foreign minds. If he were still young Arthur would probably have done the same. When merchants or noblemen came through during Arthur's visits he would run over the hill to the castle or the next village. He was a fast runner; the best in all of Moray barely breaking a sweat. When Merlin came properly into the picture he would be behind Arthur, panting as he barely kept up. The boys were young like Arthur was. It was nothing more than a game. Spot the man in wearing a broken crown. Arthur would have played it too.

“Do you think Bruce knows?” Merlin muttered, drawing Arthur from his thoughts.

Bedivere took his turn to speak this time. “I would think so,” he said. “I wouldn't put it past him to have expected this.”

“Maybe he's accepted his fate,” Arthur said in mock bitterness.

“That's treason,” Merlin singsonged, then he laughed loudly, shaking the group in their saddles.

Arthur couldn't help but smile. Bedivere just rolled his eyes. “What I mean is that he's faced betrayal from his friends, so why not expect the worst from his enemies?”

“I always knew it was true. You're nothing but a filthy hypocrite, Draig.” There was too much feeling in Merlin's voice. Far too much fondness in the smile. It should have been terrifying, but in that moment Arthur was far too outside himself.

They rode on through the countryside and climbed the gentle slope up the hill. A thin forest covered one side. There was room for horses to ride but when off the road it became more awkward and stilted.

They came to forest edge and Bruce raised his hand to stop the group. He shushed a man who tried to speak. The sound of metal upon metal stayed in the air. Heartbeats and laughter. Boys Arthur used to know. MacDougal came over the ridge, leading the small band of men. Arthur could never forget the face. It had once belonged to a man so kind to him. He was ruthless when it came to revenge, Arthur had seen it many times before.

MacDougal's voice was just like Arthur remembered. Warm, harsh and forgiving. Thick with the local tongue. Arthur closed his eyes and listened. It was all words that Arthur didn't grasp fully. You have defied King John... No right to ascend the throne... Spilt Comyn blood. Then, finally, “This is your reckoning.”

It was all bold words and coloured speech. The sound of horse hooves on the ground and chain mail rubbing up against itself. Arthur opened his eyes. MacDougal swung his sword at Bruce, who sidestepped it easily. Then the two groups of men crashed into one another. No side was distinguishable, the only person Arthur could recognise was Merlin stuck in the middle of it all, unhurt by anyone. Arthur unsheathed his sword, drawing it back so the end of the hilt smashed into someone's nose. Men were pulled down from their horses and Arthur didn't care who he hit as long as he did not know their face. He knew all those faces. But there was blood already on his sword. Their colours were enough to tell who they were.

A call for retreat came. Merlin ducked each blow as he rode out. Arthur followed on behind the rest of the men. It was a skirmish, a quick and bloody thing; so minor that it shouldn't matter what it did to them. There were so few on Bruce's side before and now there were even less.

They galloped on through the forest not stopping until they hit the southern slope of a rising hill. Bruce took a frantic glance round the group.

“We've lost Peter Forbes?” he asked. Forbes came hurtling out of the forest then, holding the reigns of another horse carrying a slumped body.”

“We've lost his squire,” Merlin said before Forbes had fully reached them.

Bruce was flustered not knowing the squires name. He didn't even try to soften the grief. The squire was a Patrick, once. Before that maybe something else.

The hills framing the solemn aftermath were grey.

“Come on,” Bruce said. “We ride onwards.”

\---

When they were within the reaches of safety Bruce fell back so he was riding alongside Arthur.

“Sire?”

Bruce huffed out a heavy breath. “Your father will know by now.” It wasn't a question. Any man who knew of Arthur's name understood the gravity of the situation. Draig, a lesser name than most, still stood hand in hand with MacDougal as Comyns.

He tried to remain nonchalant. He didn't want the fear he was hiding to surface. “I expect so.”

There was beat in which nothing but hooves on dirt tracks sounded. Two. Three.

“You will travel with us as far north as Moray. From there you will go back home.”

Another small silence, more stubborn than the first.

“I want to stay here with you.”

“I am your king. You will not defy me.”

There was something else. The petulant child inside of Arthur wanted nothing more than to shout that he would be killed when he saw his father. Arthur's years held it back.

“Your father will not do you any harm,” Bruce said. He must have sensed Arthur's fear. There was an awkwardness to the words. A truth in them that was too stiff to be serious. Fighting for a bloodied king was one thing but Arthur running from his sins was another. “When you see your father again tell him that you will be married come the Autumn. Show him your initiative.”

Arthur felt the burn of Merlin's eyes on the back of his head.

“I have no woman to make my wife.”

Bruce made to leave. Clever hands pulled on reigns as he spoke one last time, “Come Autumn there will be one.”

If it was a threat, Arthur was unsure but Bruce was back at the front before Arthur had time to think.

He heard Merlin's voice before it even began. The quick hitch before he spoke so familiar that it was like a warning bell. “What are you going to do?” Merlin asked.

“I don't know. I just want the best.”

There were innumerable chances that Arthur could have taken in his life, but he never thought returning home would be one of them. He liked to wander the beaten track to live and love recklessly with Merlin. Home felt like defeat. It felt like a foreign war he was being forced to endure.

**2.9**

They sleep close together in the relative safety of their tent. It was far too cold to be conscientious about morality, far too lonely to care about God. Merlin was pressed up against Arthur’s side like he was for so many nights before then. He held tight to Arthur’s wrist, fingers pressed to the pulse. How was he ever able to forget?

**2.10**

With morning sun they went home. Merlin was distant and Arthur couldn’t place what it could be. Was is what Bruce had said that caused him so much strife? They rode for a week, taking days for a journey that should have taken hours. Despite the slowness to their movements they rode like the fire that once lived in their hearts. The disjointed wind calmed their nerves before the creeping sun set them off again. They were desperate to find where they belonged. In Moray it was all over. A wound that ached before the arrow even left the bow. Scars had already been formed.

Neared to the castle they repeated their teenage years underneath the watch of an apple tree. They picked the last of the Autumn fruits, just beginning to turn, and the few berries left on the bushes. Merlin’s mouth was stained red. The colour seeping out like blood from the cracks on his lips.

He tasted like the cold and remnants of fruit. Arthur held him close for far too long. Merlin was all types of unholy but Arthur was the sin so bitter sweet.

He didn’t need to say anything when he readied to leave. The promises and “I love you”’s hung in the air.

\---

The castle was colder than the outside upon their return. The courtyard had stood still for them as whispers carried fast. Arthur saw movement in Morgana’s window. A shift in the curtains that gave away what Arthur had managed.

They made it to his chambers without being ambushed by his father or a servant once. He half expected a priest to jump out from behind a pillar and flick holy water at him. Latin was a language Arthur learned young. It didn’t mean he wanted the nostalgia of having it shouted at him in means of retribution.

Everything was in slow motion and bleeding out into the sun.

Merlin looked so much paler. There was determination stuck fast in his eyes but his fingers gave it away as he fidgeted.

“You stay here when my father comes,” Arthur heard himself say. When had he gotten so brave? So cowardly? “Bolt the door behind me. I’ll be back.”

“There’s no denying it,” Merlin managed to sound only slightly less bitter than he probably was.

“It will be okay. I’m not going to let them take you.”

Because, in the end, that’s what it came down to. Arthur could have his title renounced, his blood ties denied and his lands taken. Merlin would be burned. Greater men had been killed for lesser crimes.

Arthur carried. His voice still betraying him but he stopped caring. “I would rather die than live a second without you. Don’t you let yourself think for a second that I would ever just let you go.”

A shuddering breath arose from Merlin. Great heaves of his shoulders as he tried to regain composure. “I don’t,” he weakly said. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

Arthur ran his hands up Merlin’s arms. He felt the heat of lean muscle beneath one of Arthur’s own old shirts.

“I missed being able to touch you,” Merlin whispered, his eye not leaving Arthur’s face. “God I missed you so much. I always miss you.”

“I thought you hated me.”

Merlin smiled. “I do. I hate your arrogance and the way your voice is always stuck in my head. I hate how easily I let myself weave into your life. And I wouldn’t dare try trading you for all the land in the world.”

“I’d start a crusade just to get you back. I’d tell them all you were my Jerusalem.”

There was something that went unspoken. The softest glint of recognition on Merlin’s face. “I know,” he said earnestly. “I’d let you start all those wars and I’ll be there by your side making sure you win them all.”

Something settled inside Arthur’s gut. The odd feeling of familiarity that came far too often when Merlin was around. It wasn’t nostalgia; there was no yearning for something he could remember but there was the fear and anxiety associated with it. The awkward feeling of Arthur having lost something without knowing what it could be. His mind cleared and he could think of only one thing to say, “I’ll burn bridges.”

Without missing anything Merlin responded, “I’ll burn more.”

A knock came down firm on the door. Arthur dropped his hold of Merlin and stepped away.

“Come in,” he called.

The servant who came in was one Arthur had never seen before. He didn’t look at Merlin or him fully and kept his eyes glued to his feet instead. “Your father requests you and your servant’s presence, my lord.”

He was gone before Arthur could give an answer. The door slammed shut.

\---

“You two,” Uther seethed. “Have brought shame to this family.”

Arthur said, “It can’t be that bad. We were only gone a week at best.”

“It doesn’t matter how long you were gone but rather why you were gone.”

“We fought for what we saw as right—”

“You know damn well that that is not what this is about.” The sound of Uther's voice was enough to stop Arthur dead in his tracks. This was it. This was what the build up of Arthur's life had come to. Any sort of doubt he held was lost. Uther held Merlin and Arthur's lives in the balance. One slip of Arthur's word meant Uther's hand coming down. No amount of repent would stave off Uther's anger.

But Uther settled back again. He pressed his back flush against the wood of his chair. His let his arms relax just enough to reconsider the tension.

"Your sister has reason to believe that this is all just insolence. A belated form of childhood rebellion. I hope to God that you have something to say about this."

Morgana was a lifesaver. They had barely spoken in the recent months— she was too caught up in her rooms, her sickness and her marriage and Arthur was caught up in everything else. In adolescence they had never seen eye to eye but as they grew older things changed between the two them. Their morals evened out and their lives grew more complicated. The solace of an unburdened alliance was needed more than memories of their fights as children.

Arthur's lack of response gave away what little truth there was left to tell but Uther chose to ignore it anyway. He drove on with the conversation.

"You should just consider yourselves lucky that the stories only spread as far as the servants' quarters. If it got beyond the walls I don't know what repercussions would have come out of this."

But there _were_ repercussions. There would always be repercussions.

Uther let a frailing finger point at Merlin. "And you," his voice began to rise again. "I knew since I had appointed you his servant that I had made a grave mistake. Your mother served us well but all you have ever done has caused us nothing but trouble. You have done and continue to belittle our authority, overstep your position and knowingly choose to take advantage of my son's fragile nature."

"I'm not fragile—"

"Be quiet!" Arthur flinched. Dust began to settle.

Merlin spoke, his voice causing cracks to form in the sky. The light of him came through then, having travelled for centuries across the stars.

"My lord, I believe we have already been punished for our actions. I feel as if the weight of my sins has already been lifted like smoke off my shoulders. We have all already fought in unlegendary wars and yet we choose to add another to this list."

Something callus flashed in Uther's eyes. It was Merlin's voice speaking but the words sounded nothing like him.

"I think the Gods have seen it so we all carry on unburdened. Why else would we live so freely now? Why else would I?"

_Gods._

"Without repercussions beyond now," Uther muttered. Gone was his anger. Instead it had been replaced with an unmistakable age. Uther looked so tired.

There were always going to be repercussions.

Merlin stood stoic in front of Arthur. When he had moved Arthur didn't know. It was almost as if this moment was always happening. The warm contentedness that filled Arthur's brain with calm left him stalling. Beneath this layer was something else entirely. By God it was only know. Maybe also Merlin, whose smiles conveyed more than just secrets. He was just so good at keeping things from Arthur. He was a shield and Arthur was far too noble to need one.

"I'll be married come Autumn." The words fell from his mouth before he could think. He was tying rocks to his ankles, too caught up in his own descent that he barely noticed Merlin flinch. He held his breath, count down from ten and tried to re imagine what had just happened.

Arthur had changed everything. The ruthless surrounding his father had dispersed. Left in its place felt like ancient regrets. Of all the things his father could have shown to Arthur, it had to be regret.

Arthur was out the door before anyone had spoke. Behind him Merlin stumbled drunkenly, slowly pulling all the strings together. Upon closing the door he could have sworn he heard his father say, "You may go."

Too late. It was always too damn late.

"Go back to my chambers," Arthur said, trying to regain some of the control he had lost. "Wait there for me."

All of this walking through empty spaces was beginning to get old.

\---

Morgana's rooms were not at all like Arthur's. They were light and airy, dressed in pale blues and lilacs. There were no hard lines like Arthur's chambers, but soft floating fabrics and a curved outer wall. It had been months since he had spent time with her and longer still since he had visited their mother's grave. He had been too caught up in Merlin and the progression of the war. The consequences had proved fatal.

Morgana's chambers reminded Arthur of all the things that, technically, should have made the castle home. They reminded him of childhood feuds with Morgana, the games he played with her and their brothers, of Igraine's laughter dancing in his ears. That wasn't home, though, no matter how hard he tried to make it so. And good God, did he try. It wasn't the memories or the people who he knew in childhood, but Merlin, who always managed to taste like summer fruit and kiss like bitter wine. He was a grand old thing, brought up to serve and not achieve. It was him and the alcove where they had been caught, the apple tree which held together their secrets in its roots, and the safe, Godless world they had made for themselves. That was what Arthur knew as home.

It didn't make Morgana any less important to him. She was nothing like Arthur's memories of her. Gone was her care free nature, her resilient desire to do right had weathered with the passing years, and her hands slowly began to shake. She had lost her hard shell but kept a small sense of her authority. She was sick with something no healer could diagnose. It left her confined to her bed for half the year and was, perhaps, the only household secret more well kept than Arthur's. Today was a good day for her. Her face set with stern lines set Uther's to shame. The quiet malice set everyone up to fall back down to their knees.

He wanted to get this all over with and pretend so badly that Morgana was normal. The debilitating sickness might not have kept her held down today, but every word she spoke resonated with her rattling breath.

Arthur couldn't take it any more. The bittersweet sensation would leave him the sooner he spoke. "Thank you," he said. "For what you did for us."

Sat in front of her vanity she was already distracted; too busy running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame what already was. "What did I do?" she asked.

"You made our father forgive me."

She hummed sweetly and shook her head. "It can't have been." She looked at Arthur's reflection. "I haven't spoken to him for days. Not since you left, I've been all torn up."

Oh, well.

Morgana had been gone for a long time. She was always there in front of Arthur but in reality she was absent from herself. She couldn't convey to anyone else what was happening inside of her head and it ruined her. It was possible that she just forgot that she had ever spoken to Uther. But she always looked so distant when she was confused and today was the only day she had ever looked with any certainty. They were deafening, the quiet facts than begun to reveal themselves one by one.

"Well, I hope you find you peace."

Morgana nodded in acceptance and then went on to ignore Arthur standing there in the mirror. He left, ready to wander the corridors once again until he found himself.

\---

Merlin was waiting in Arthur's bedchamber. He was sat on the bed—fires lit, candles set to take over for the sun when night fell—fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Morgana says she didn't tell father anything," Arthur said once he closed the door. Merlin looked blank. "She hasn't even spoken to him for days."

"Maybe she was just confused."

Arthur shook his head. "I've never seen her look more certain in my life. You remember, when we were children we used too—"

"I wasn't there. And anyway, certainty in the insane shouldn't be gospel truth."

"She's not insane."

"You know what, she might as well be."

"Merlin."

"It would explain a lot of things. No wonder your father's so keen to have her married off."

"Merlin!"

Merlin stopped. "What?" he looked at Arthur and then, immediately said, "I'm sorry, I overstepped."

"Why would she lie to me?"

Merlin fell apart underneath the slightest of blows. This was not one of them.

"You know she doesn't look anything like your mother. Then there's you, looking so sweet, just like her. The curve of your jaw, the way you smile, how you hold yourself. It's all so much like your mother. Sometimes I forget who Morgana is, but I can see it in her eyes who she is. The two of you look nothing alike except from the angle of your eyes."

"I think you should leave, Merlin."

Merlin opened and closed his mouth as if he meant to speak, hands hanging limply after being stopped mid conversation. He pulled himself together, stood up and made to exit, but not before biting out a stiff, "My lord," by way of leaving.

**2.11**

A year after that late Autumn came the end of Arthur's time. Before that there was summer than Spring. Further back still there was the first real winter of the new year.

In the orchard, long after the leaves had parted from the trees, sat beside the ground where the apple tree once held strong was where Arthur found Merlin.

Snow covered the ground, but there were shallow pits surrounding the few evergreens. Merlin was sat with his body pressed into the leaves, hiding from the weather.

"You shouldn't leave the castle when it's like this, you'll catch your death."

"I'll take my chances," Merlin said. His eyes were closed and his head tilted up, gazing wistfully, without seeing, to the heavens.

"You'd make a terrible tactician. You can't take chances with your health like that in wars."

Merlin laughed, a sharp sound that turned the knife in Arthur's stomach. Thing had been tense since they returned to the castle months ago. Neither one of them had tried to fix what was lost and instead went on pretending that nothing had ever changed. It was Arthur's duty to apologise; he had dragged Merlin down with him.

"You'd make a terrible knight," Merlin smiled. He opened his eyes just enough to squint at Arthur. "At least I can make my own decisions."

It was all so backwards. The idea of what they had become to one another. Sharp jokes that held no humour. Comments pulled from the air, meant to maim but only leaving nail marks. Forwards, Arthur pushed. He had so much to lose but it was already beginning to become lost.

For the two weeks following they stumbled together, half-heartedly clinging to each other to pass the time away. Winter solstice had left them locked in Arthur's chambers amidst another worthless argument. The walls and floor were cold, but the fire was warm, the food was too, and the bed beckoned them from its new positions in front of the fireplace.

Arthur's mind was still caught up in Uther and Morgana, and whatever Merlin had been trying to say to him but he didn't want to suffer through what peaceful time they had left. The fight had paused while the snow fell down, and the snow wouldn’t stop falling.

One afternoon the castle stood still, all signs of life gone bar the smoke from the fires. They were in Arthur's chambers waiting out the storm. Stuck in the bed, seeking refuge from the cold.

"I'm still convinced you could be King," Merlin mumbled sleepily, his voice croaking from lack of use. His chest was pressed against the mattress but he was looking at Arthur. He was squinting in the low light and his hair stood up in tufts.

"Maybe," Arthur replied.

Merlin smiled slow and sweet, candle light catching in his eyes and the fire warming his hair from jet black to golden brown.

"Definitely, just not yet. One day you'll be a great King and I'll be by your side the whole way." Merlin ran his fingers over Arthur's.

Merlin had already given Arthur everything he had; his loyalty, his love and his trust. He was so completely committed that there was nothing left of him to give. Arthur couldn't say he had done the same. He loved Merlin wholey—no matter how bruised or broken he was—and he would give his last breath to him if he had to. He would give up the world for Merlin, who was a shining beacon of hope amongst all of the change. What Merlin wanted was nothing short of treason. A joking treason, the sort left only half thought through and never entirely honest.

"I would be a terrible King," he said for maybe the thousandth time. He moved the hand Merlin wasn't holding so he could touch Merlin's face. He stopped short at the temple and grazed the cheekbones with the rough skin of his thumb. It was barely a touch, nothing close to the apology still needed, but it was something. It was enough for now.

**2.12**

It was tragic to love someone so much for so long and yet to feel as if you did not know them completely.

\---

In late August of that same year a messenger came bearing the crest of a Flemish house. Arthur's marriage was to be postponed; war had broken out in his home country and it wasn't feasible to think of moving his future with at such a time. There was still no word of who she was.

\---

In April news of Bruce’s return to Scotland came in the form of Bedivere. This time Arthur and Merlin left the castle with full knowledge of where they would be going. No longer would fear of Uther's actions stay Arthur's thoughts. His loyalties could not be moved and his father grew to accept it. Arthur saw no reason to fight about it any longer.

They travelled the country first, drawing support from men and meeting with Bruce when they could. Bedivere kept Arthur on the straight and narrow when Merlin was around. It was for the best. There was no time for distractions even when the need for speedy movements had long since passed. Scotland was still a country in the throes of war. Arthur fought with Bedivere and Bruce at Glentrool. He didn't see Merlin for the entire fight, but there was blood on his sword and bruises on his side when they found each other again. They captured Inverlochy and Urquhart and watched as Inverness and Nairn were raised to the ground, fire warming their hands.

By Banff Bruce fell ill and Arthur found himself briefly lost. He travelled west with Bedivere and Merlin in Bruce's absence to do what they could. Bruce's recovery was a miracle and he rode on to take Balvenie and Duffus. Things changed from that point. He rampaged the lands once he got to Moray, spilling Blood on the ground Arthur played on.

He watched with guilt in his heart as Bruce murdered all who he loved as a child. He closed out their screams and stayed his tongue. He rode at the back of the knights, as far from the blood as he could get.

It was near his father's own estate that he began to grow nervous. They passed through the orchards that held the remnants of his secrets. The apple tree had been cut down a long time ago to make way for something that would never be build. All that remained was a thin stump.

They neared the castle when Arthur spoke. "My father, he means you no harm. He will put up no arms against us. He will respect you as I do, even if his family loyalties keep him from liking you."

It didn't work. The small army rode on into the courtyard. Arthur had nothing left to say. His father was already descending the steps and before Arthur knew it Uther was kneeling in front of Bruce, head bowed in surrender. His hands shook. He looked like he was kneeling to pray.

There was long moment in which Arthur's world teetered on the edge of a cliff. How far would his loyalty have stretched had he known that Bruce would have done something like this?

Bruce's voice cut across the icy silence. It was a noise heard around the world. "You will be spared, for your son's loyalty if nothing else."

Bruce turned his horse and began to leave. He nodded as he passed Arthur. Bedivere said his goodbye when the rest of the flank had gone.

Bruce travelled onto Argyll as Arthur stayed behind with his father and so too did Merlin, ever the loyalist.

\---

They were left alone for year in the knowledge that one day Arthur would be called upon to fight. The marriage was constantly postponed and rearranged, but Arthur finally knew a name. Alexandra, the third daughter of a Flemish Duke. She was younger than Arthur by years and he had seen one portrait. She was pale, brown braided hair just visible beneath the veil. She had round hazel eyes and a delicate mouth that showed little expression bar the slightest of smiles.

She was certainly beautiful. Arthur would be quite the envy of the nobility once the wedding finally went ahead. Arthur was dreading it. With each passing day it got closer, no matter how much it had to be pushed back. Time would not always be on his side.

\---

Edward II, son of the old English King, was inaugurated in February. He held no quarry for Scotland beyond minor annoyance.

\---

In the winter of 1308 Uther grew sick. A lung infection burdened him and his breath came out in forced shudders. He was confined to his bed by a monk named Gaius who was called upon to help. He worked herbs and plants into pastes that looked ghastly but were said to cure all ills.

Arthur had been so used to spending his time with Merlin and occasionally performing noble duties such as patrols and hunts that he had almost forgot all his lessons on keeping the duchy. He acted lord while Uther was bed bound. Merlin stood further away from Arthur while the stress overtook him.

The winter was harsh. Blizzards hit hard against the grey skies. Snow was thick and stubborn on the ground, refusing to move or fade away. Uther's room was kept the warmest out of all bar the kitchens. His lungs were full of fluid and his heart beat slow to a Roman victory march. He carried on in ill health despite the burden of breathing.

\---

In the days following the new year Merlin fell ill. Arthur found him collapsed on the floor, breath something out in wheezes and sweating like it was high summer. Arthur carried Merlin to his bed and left him in the care of one of the few guards that Arthur actually trusted.

He rode with haste to Gaius's monastery. Gaius didn't take much prompting to journey back with Arthur but he was impatient with Arthur's need for speed.

"There's no need to hurry, my boy. I'm sure your servant is in good enough health for us to take out time," he said while Arthur stuttered about impatiently on his horse.

"You will hurry," he insisted.

Gaius stiffened but nodded. There might have been a muttering about the insolence of youth but nothing else slipped by Arthur.

They were back at the castle within record time but it still seemed far too slow for Arthur's liking. Gaius only needed to take one look around Arthur's chambers upon entering when a sudden slackness overcame his face. He worked quickly, tending to Merlin's illness without a hitch as if realising the reason for Arthur's haste.

When he was down he turned to Arthur and told him what had to be done in order to keep Merlin recovering.

"I can make my own way back from here, my lord. I have travelled this road many times in my life." No-one but Merlin had ever quite managed to say "my lord" in the manner that Gaius did. The tremblings of fear rocked Arthur's body.

"Thank you," was all Arthur found he was able to say. He was too busy keeping to Merlin and trying to hide in plain sight than to manage anything more than a quick clasp of Gaius' outstretched hand.

Gaius hesitated before leaving, as if he had forgotten how he was meant to open the door and walk away from the scene. "I will pray for him," Gaius said. "I will pray for the both of you." He was out the door in a flurry of robes and the soft slam of the chamber door.

Was he always so obvious?

\---

Uther got back to good health soon after Merlin fell ill. It left Arthur with nothing to do but sit tight in his chambers, making sure Merlin was comfortable. When the appeal of that fell through Arthur sought something to make himself forget how wrong Merlin looked he threw himself into helping his father. He awaited the day the duchy would be his as much as he dreaded it.

Merlin was back to his usual charming, unpunctual self in less than a heartbeat on the eleventh day of the year, much to Arthur's visual distress. He'd have much preferred it if Merlin stayed in bed for longer just to ensure that all sickness was gone from his body.

\---

Arthur's marriage was finally brought forwards to June of 1309. He spent Spring restless, tied up in his love for Merlin that each day broke his heart more. There were no grievances meant, but it didn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell. The final days before Alexandra arrived for the wedding Arthur spent deep within the forests. He was hunting for the feast but he only took Merlin with him. They let themselves by whole together for a few brief moments during which time slowed down. They left the forest, prizes slung over their shoulders, ready and unwilling to get back to their changing lives.

The actual wedding was a far more lavish affair than Morgana's had been. Tapestries were hung around the castle and the great hall was full of people and foliage. It was a gorgeous occasion; enough to rival a royal wedding.

Alexandra was even more stunning in real life. She wore a pale green wedding gown decorated in jewels and pearls, made by the finest tailors in her Kingdom. The war in her country had somehow spared her family's riches. She was here to impress. She spoke English perfectly and her Scottish was only slightly a botched attempt. She said her vows more fluently than Arthur, as though she had been practising instead racked with fear. This was the first time met. The portrait of her was never any easy thing to know.

At the feast she spoke pleasantly and never out of term. It was so unusual for Arthur. He was so used to spending time with Merlin that the propriety was foreign.

Merlin slipped out of the feast as soon as it began to wind down. Alexandra was taken away to her new chambers (which had been Morgana's first) to get ready. Arthur had fooled himself into forgetting about the consummation. He left soon after to find Merlin.

It was in Arthur's bed chambers that he found him. Merlin had refused to look Arthur in the eye for the entire feast. He was almost missed the ceremony if it hadn't been for Uther's manservant dragging a kicking Merlin into the room. Merlin was sitting on Arthur's bed.

"You should get ready," he said before Arthur could get a word in. Arthur just let it all happen.

Gradually Merlin removed all of Arthur's clothes and replaced them with his finest night robes. His touches lingered unconsciously but he still wouldn't look at Arthur fully.

"You could at least say something to me," Arthur said.

Merlin glared. "You'll be fine." He brushed the wrinkles out of the shirt and stepped back. He nodded, admiring his fine work and made to leave.

"Merlin," Arthur called when he realise what Merlin was doing. He slipped out into the hall behind him. "Merlin," he called again. It only made Merlin walk faster. "Merlin, stop running away."

Arthur ran down the corridor, grabbed Merlin by the shoulder and hurled him round. "What is you problem?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

Merlin huffed. "You're married," he said. "How could you think nothing would change?"

"That's what this is about?" Arthur couldn't help laughing. Merlin at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"...No."

"You were there when we planned this out."

"She's royalty."

"That changes nothing about how I feel. Dear God, don't let yourself think for one second that it would be anyone other than you. I'd rather have you over anyone but this is the only chance we have."

"I can't believe you'd have married me over her," Merlin gasped out in disbelief.

"I'd marry you over anyone if I were allowed. You're better than them all."

Merlin closed his eyes and sighed. The corridor was quiet except from the distant sound of festivities. "You still have to go," Merlin said. He opened his eyes again and finally met Arthur's.

"I know. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I'll be back to you before the night is over."

\---

Arthur didn't come back. Merlin stayed up all night waiting.

**2.13**

For five years they lived a quiet life. Alexandra fitting more into the background running of things while Arthur tried to balance his time between them, giving Merlin far more time than he should have done.

One by one Arthur's brothers had either married or left to become mercenaries, a true sign that the times were changing much faster than Arthur would have liked. His father hadn't been seriously ill for a long time, but he looked frail and the dark circles under his eyes were a constant. Arthur was going to need an heir soon, a thought that plagued him always.

There were years before the world would come to that point. He had time to adjust to the idea of ever having to share anything with anyone other than Merlin. People were already speaking about the lack of an heir but when his father died word of something being wrong would spread sooner rather than later. It would be years more still until people began to speak of the rumours that once plagued him—the rumours dispelled by his marriage.

Merlin and Alexandra formed a strained relationship. It was obvious that Merlin resented her even though she had done nothing. It was her mere presence that was a threat even if Arthur never fell for it. At least she had been accepted by the court.

\---

Uther fell ill again during the summer. It shook Uther took his core. Arthur heard his father's rattling breaths from miles away. They stalked him as he walked the corridors and found him when he was hiding in disused rooms. He couldn't escape the wrong feeling even while he was hiding with Merlin in amongst the ruins of a castle from long before Uther's time. It was a slow day and Arthur left Alexandra in charge of everything. Arthur still needed time.

They returned in time for dinner and all three dined together. There was a sense of awkwardness that came along with the resounding knowledge that Alexandra didn't belong here. She was meant for much more grandeur.

"Bruce came to our court in hiding one winter," Alexandra said once the plates had been cleared away and all the servants were gone. A wine jug had been made the centerpiece. "My father knew him long before he came to Flanders to marry my mother. He told us all there was to tell about his war with Edward that we did not already know. He took me aside one night and told me about you two, telling me that you had defied your blood in exchange for your beliefs. He said you lived in sin and I knew what he was asking of me. I agreed to marry you because Robert Bruce was my father's friend and I am glad I agreed to now because I don't think I could ever love anyone. I'm far more happy here away from my old life and I know you only expect a cover story from me."

Arthur knew the outlines of the story already but he never would have expected anything more to be said.

Merlin spoke, "I'm sorry," he said. "Truly."

"I just want the best for you both," she replied. There were tears in her eyes threatening to spill. They were all slightly tipsy, maybe her the most. "Please, just tell me you want the same for me."

Merlin nodded, too dumbfounded to do a thing.

"I need an heir," Alexandra said. The tears spilled over and she knocked her goblet off the table as she stood up. "I'm sorry," she hastened. "I should never have said anything." She left the chamber in a hurry, leaving Arthur staring blankly at the space where she had been sitting.

**2.14**

The call for Bannockburn came in late June. Arthur left in the night, leaving Merlin behind in his bed. He told a passing guard to tell Alexandra where he was going. Merlin didn't need to be told, he would figure it all out anyway.

Arthur arrived on the eve of his battle. Bruce was staying in New Park, hidden in the safety of the forest. The carse had been prepared, pots dug into the ground with the intent to break the English offence.

A servant took Arthur's horse when he dismounted. He stood up proud, his house crest on his surcoat. By now everyone knew of the betrayals; the few Comyn men who fought on Bruce's side. Arthur was just one of them.

"Arthur," Bruce called when he noticed Arthur nearing him. "I'm honoured to have you here with us." Bruce pulled him into a quick one armed hug.

"I'm honoured to be here."

Bruce looked around, smile fading slightly when he realised Arthur had come alone. "I hope everything is fine. I see no sign of your servant."

Arthur shrugged. "I didn't want him to be here. Just in case something went wrong I wouldn't want him to be around to see that." It was a half truth, Bruce didn't need to know the full reasoning.

He seemed to accept Arthur's answer though. "Well then, I'll let you get back to everything."

\---

June twenty second was marked with fierce winds and heavy summer rain. Sun flashed down in cloud breaks when the rain let up for a while.

Joseph, Bedivere's squire, gave a check over Arthur's armour. He was far more kitted out than some of the men in the camp but so far the schiltrons had prove impenetrable bar that one disastrous fight. He had his sword sheathed on his belt and a pike his hand. The sword acted as the good lucky charm, polished by Merlin, it was useless in battle. schiltrons were the only thing that made a Scottish infantry deadly to the English. There was no point in failing that design.

Arthur joined the long ranks of men and waited. There was a moment when they all knelt down to pray, priests standing in front of the lines giving their sermons. The cackling of the English wavered in the distance. How must this look to them?

The battle begun with an execution. Henry de Bohun was split in two by Bruce's battle axe and the English cavalry charged. The Scottish would not fall.

\---

Merlin woke to find himself alone. His dreams had tormented him and he could barely remember his name for a few blissful seconds. He was lifeless just then; so condemned to an eternity of suffering that he could feel the strength of the world beneath his fingertips. He wished he could shatter it all.

He dressed in a hurry, grabbed breakfast from the kitchens and saddled up his horse. He knew without asking where Arthur had gone. He would never skip a call from Robert Bruce. Not even if it meant risking everything, just like he had done with Merlin once before.

He rode fast through the orchards. Merlin was stupid and in love, forever chasing a man who was always distancing himself.

The sun was only just passing overhead. The sky above was blue and hot summer sun beamed down, but in the distance grey clouds were looming.

\---

The first day of battle saw the English retreat back to their camp across the Bannockburn. The cavalry charge had failed, falling apart due to the pots and constantly being pushed back by the pikemen. The infantry and archers found no place in the fighting. Everything had worked perfectly but there were still more days to come.

\---

Merlin was closer to Sterling than he should have been. He had to pass over the edges of the highlands to get where he needed to be. He slept in the forest the night before and carried on travelling when first light hit. He made it to New Park by early afternoon. The remainder of the Scottish camp was there, carry on their duties while the battle roared on.

He gave his horse to a grooms boy who had come forwards. He could just see the backs of the Scottish schiltron advancing forwards. Arthur was some distance away, sitting on his horse and watching the battle unfold. He was in full armour, ready and waiting with the rest of the cavalry for orders.

It was amazing to watch. Merlin couldn't see the English but he had heard stories of what they could do. Scotland's army was made up of peasants and ill trained knights. Yet there they were, standing up against the English like it was nothing.

Arrows came down like rain. Piercing the ground around the schiltron. Bruce shouted something Merlin couldn't hear and the cavalry sprang into action and rode out of sight. Merlin had seen enough when the arrows began to stop falling. He went back to where the camp followers were sitting.

"The English are being crushed," he said. Some turned to look at him while others just carried on what they were doing. "They're being drawn into a trap and the Welsh have stopped their fire."

The servants just looked confused as to why Merlin was telling them this. Their job was to care for the camp, not the fight. "If we go now to their lines then there's no way the English can come back from this. A second army will scare them into a withdraw."

"Aye," one of the blacksmiths said. "He's right. There's every reason that would work."

"Thank you," Merlin said.

A call from the carse came, "Lay on! Lay on! Lay on! They fail!"

Word travelled quick around the camp. The servants made to move, grabbing whatever weapons had been left behind. In a line they ran out the forest and down the slope to the schiltron. There were a hundred or so of them at most. Merlin was surrounded by pushing bodies and suffocating heat. They pushed forwards, each step getting easier, weapons held skywards to fend off against any last attempts. The schiltron broke ranks as the English burst the banks of the Bannockburn.

"They flee!" one of the cavalry men shouted. "The English flee down the banks and over the bodies in the river."

The battle was over. Gradually the men dispersed and victory whoops filled the air.

Arthur jumped down from his horse. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked his hair. He was grinning madly, so pleased as having had won.

"Arthur," Merlin shouted across everyone's celebrations. Arthur round and Merlin ran towards him. "You dick," he said when they met in the middle. "You absolutely worthless sod. Don't you ever do that to me again." He pulled Arthur into a tight hug, not caring about the thousands around them or the restraint of armour.

"Your father was worried," her covered. "I was worried."

"God Merlin. I'm fine, really. I am." He stepped backwards to get a better look. "You shouldn't be here. I left you behind for a reason."

"Well it's a shitty reason. You can't just up and leave me like that. You could have been dead."

"Yeah, well," Arthur looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know if we would win," he hastened. "I didn't want you to be here if this was just going to turn out like Falkirk did."

"It would never have been Falkirk."

"But what if it did. I wouldn't be able to have gone through with the battle knowing that you were watching us be destroyed. You would have tried to be all noble and save us. I don't think I could live if you got killed and I had to live on without you." Arthur voice was full of something far more than the shallow reasoning he'd use with his father. It was genuine and heartbreaking the tone he used. It was strange, to think how awkward Arthur was with his affections in the safety of his duchy, but on the battlefield he was far more able to breathe easy.

"You wouldn't let me die," Merlin said.

They walked back to the restless camp. Sun finally shedding some light on New Park and the carse.

**2.15**

They had taken their time going home, taking a week for a journey that should have been a few days. When they arrived back at the castle everything was still. There were few servants anywhere and the only person who came to greet them was the stable boy appearing to take the horses.

"Where is everyone?" Merlin asked.

Arthur didn't know either. "Maybe they all got fed up and left."

The entrance doors banged open and Alexandra came rushing out. Her dress dragged on the dirty stone.

"Something terrible has happened," she said. "It's your father."

Immediately Arthur knew what she was going to say. Illness came so often to Uther that it was met with quiet worry. "Where is he?" Arthur asked.

"We tried our best. Gaius came to care for him but nothing could help. He's in the old crypt."

\---

It had been years since Arthur had ventured into the family crypt. He hadn't been since Igraine had died and her body graced the centre plinth. The body had long since been moved. Her bones were indistinguishable from their ancestors. Most of whom were only distantly related.

His father's body now found its place on the plinth. There was something about his stillness, about the non-existent moving of his chest, that calmed Arthur. Death looked so peaceful. You would never have known that a heart attack had finally taken him.

He looked like a warlord made poetic by the east. His father was old enough to have gone on the last crusade as a boyish knight.

Arthur had fought in wars in France and Scotland both. He had fought for Kings and dukes and then spent his free time in a sin that made him hell bound. Yet none of those things were as terrifying as Uther's lifeless body.

"He gave me so much," Arthur said. He didn't even notice he was speaking until he finished. "Yet all this time I thought I owed him so little. I was wrong. I owe him so much."

"I never thought he'd die like this," Merlin's voice alerted Arthur to his presence. "I always thought it would be something much more noble."

"I could have been killed," Arthur sobbed.

"Arthur," Merlin breathed out. His hand grazed Arthur's shoulder in a soft touch. "It's okay. It's not your fault. You're free now. You're allowed to hurt, but God you're free."

Arthur let out a shaky laugh and tried to wipe away his tears but they just kept coming. "I didn't think it would hurt this bad."

"I know. It's okay. You'll be okay."

"I thought we had years." He shouted, then, "Fuck, fuck I need an heir."

Merlin tensed but he didn't make to leave like he normally would.

"We'll figure something out when we have to. Everything will be alright." They both knew the answer to all their problems.

"Yes," Arthur said. He moved Merlin's hand to rest on his cheek. "We'll think of something. We always do."


	3. four. again

**4**

They go on.

England. France. Germany. The New World. They lives as Kings, gentries, peasant, soldiers on opposing sides. Gods, once. Three wars spread across the world. Britain still doesn't fall. Albion remains a myth and King Arthur never was. Merlin is misremembered more than anyone else. It's cruel, what memory and time did to him.

Yes, the go on. More importantly, they lived.

**4.1**

Avalon speaks: "we think you would have always ended up this way; bound together throughout all of time. Even without fate's intervention."

The Gods look down on them in happiness from their greater levels of heaven. All except Zachariah, who scowls when he visits them. He's hiding something. Merlin rests beside Arthur on an empty hillside. Beneath them the ground is softer and much more delicate than the heather that graced their final home. Calmadrie, a place for fallen Kings.

"I can't believe this is happening," he says. His voice is crisp as it goes on, like the first notes ringing out from a harpsichord. It only makes the day seem more immaculate.

"Can't believe what?" Arthur's voice is drunker. It lost all its harshness gained from seeing war after war, even when neither one could remember the wars.

"That this is the way they'll remember us."

The suns blinks dangerously. The sky teeters and falls. Avalon is safe once more, but it doesn't mean Merlin and Arthur are.

**4.2**

Arthur was falling. The darkness was his final reminder. There was no farewell waiting for him behind the ivy walls surrounding him. There was only an incomprehensible dream of a mad world so far in the future. Arthur had lived through it. He had fought against what the Gods asked of him. Uther's war was long ago. It was also happening now.

Every so often Arthur stopped falling quite as fast and saw images from all his past lives. Light came shining through breaks in the ivy and voices filter in. The tunnel let out and Arthur was thrown to the ground. Stone breaks his fall. He was in the corridor outside his chamber in Camelot all those years ago. On the other side of the door he knew Merlin was sleeping soundly. No danger has shown itself just yet.

He skips past this part, knowing too well the consequences of a lack of speed. Avalon was saved but time was still falling to pieces. He closed his eyes and felt the sway of time bring him forwards. This time round Merlin made it out alive, even if it meant the Gods broke all of their rules.

**4.3**

Merlin was waiting for him at the Màrnach. He looked seasick, skin a depressing grey colour mirroring the sky outside. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon.

“It was Gwen,” Merlin said.

Arthur didn't know what to say. Gwen had been one of Merlin's closest friends. “Is Morgana here?”

Merlin nodded. “She's sleeping.”

“You've seen—?”

“Not yet,” Merlin interrupted. “I think you should be the one to do it. You were here first.”

“I'll find you afterwards.”

Merlin grimaced. “You better this time.”

\---

The throne room was exactly like Arthur recalled. It was still the same picture of grandeur with frescos and intricate decorations crowding the room. Eva was sat on her throne, grey light dragging her down. She had a goblet of wine in one hand and rest her head of the other.

“Eva?” Arthur asked. She shifted, noticing Arthur for the first time.

“Hello,” she said. “I was wondering when you'd be here. Ever since fate changed it all I have been wondering how long it would take.”

Arthur nodded. “Of course,” he said.

“You came from Camelot?” Eva asked.

“Avalon.”

“Oh, is that how it is? You remember what happened?”

Arthur nodded. He wished that he didn't. “We were betrayed and we lost the battle.”

“Camelot fell when you died.”

Okay, so, Arthur didn't know that bit. “Uther killed every prisoner captured in the war. Morgana, Patrick and his entire fleet was obliterated, there were more but you never knew their names. Guinivere was too. Your father never liked traitors.”

“Oh god.” All of the people who had trusted Arthur, all those people who had fought for magic and Merlin. All of them were dead. “I need to raise another army?” He didn't want to say that, but that was the one consequence that was clear to him.

“You fool,” Eva smiled. “You poor, poor man. Your armies already there, it's waiting. We've all been waiting for you to return.”

“I need the bow.”

“It's there too. You underestimate me, Pendragon.” She rose from her chair and walked across to the window. “I can't tell if this is the first time we've met or not.”

“Well, I know you.”

“Ah. You'll go tomorrow then. Time can't be stopped forever.”

\---

Arthur saw Morgana once before he left. His horse was waiting outside, all ready for leaving with his bags tied on.

Morgana pulled Arthur close. It had been years since they had seen each other without all of the pretence of another life shrouding their views.

“I'm sorry,” she cried. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Arthur shushed her. “It's okay. You were grand.”

He said goodbye before he wanted to and left with Merlin. Morgana would stay behind, safe in the Màrnach in case anything happened.

Morgana's hair was wet.

\---

Sir Patrick was waiting for Arthur and Merlin at the path down to the battlefield.

“We've been waiting,” he said.

Arthur could only apologise. God knows how long they've been gone. They wound down the path and army came into view. It was only when Arthur got closer that it began to move. Breaths were drawn again.

Camelot must be frozen. So must the rest of Albion.

Merlin smiled before he left Arthur. “You'll be fine. I'll be with you every step of the way.” He took Arthur's sword with him.

Sir Patrick gifted him Mercutio's bow and it fit his hand like it was always meant to.

The cavalry met like the first time, in a whirlwind of horses, weapons and men being flung off their mounts.

“On me!” Arthur shouted. The men around him let out cries and shouts as they ran towards the enemy. His father's army was all that stood against Arthur's men and peace.

“Guinivere,” Arthur whispered, still standing in place. “I forgive you.”

Lightning sparked and thunder clapped overhead. The battle was under way. Arthur walked across the field. The fight went on around him but no-one came near him. He walked through the rivers of blood as the men around him parted like the red sea. Uther was nowhere to be seen.

A hush came over the world as lightning hit again. Even the thunder didn't roar this time. A blackened figure stood out amongst the crowd. Smoke radiated from his armour. It made sense now Arthur knew how his life was meant to have turned out. The knight was Mordred, born of the ashes of the earth.

Mordred walked towards Arthur, taking his time as he moved. Arthur tightened his grip on the bow. He pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it. He pulled back on the bow string, aimed and loosed. Mordred slowed. Where he had been hit he began to fall the pieces but he was still coming towards Arthur. He loosed again and took a chunk out of Mordred's arm.

No matter how much he tried Mordred didn't seem to fall. He was mere feet away from Arthur now. Arthur took his last arrow and took his time. When he let go of the string lighting cracked, the sound of thunder came rushing down and Mordred was gone in a halo of blue light. All that was left of him was his sword, stuck upright in the ground having fallen from Mordred's grip. It was already crumbling in the wind.

It was over all too soon. The final battle an anti-climax.

The battle stopped. Men of both sides around Arthur let their weapons fall to the ground.

Uther appeared from nowhere, walking over the fallen. Merlin walked out from behind Arthur though before he had been nowhere near. He stopped in front of Arthur, waiting for Uther to meet them.

There was silence as both armies watched everything unfold.

“I've won,” Arthur said when Uther was close enough to hear him.

Uther nodded. He looked shell shocked like something was biting at him.

“You remember too,” Merlin said. It wasn't what Arthur expected him to say in this situation. Maybe first time round it would have been different. First time round Merlin would never have let Uther get this far.

Uther shifted uncomfortably. “I never forgot,” he said.

Harsh wind whipped over them. “I tried to appease them,” Uther carried on. “Give penance for what I did. It never worked.”

“No amount of penance could cure what you have done,” Merlin spat out. “We have been through hell because of you.”

“I was there too,” Uther replied.

“You never forgot and yet you pushed your will on us time and time again. You almost had Arthur killed.”

“To save the world—”

“You knew he wasn't the one they wanted. Yet you let them believe that he would save them.”

Uther didn't have anything left to say. He opened and closed his mouth foolishly a few time before relenting.

“I will take my rightful place,” Arthur said. Uther's gaze snapped to him.

“As prince?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. As king.” Uther didn't say anything. “I won the battle. I saved the world with Merlin by my side. How can I trust that when we return to Camelot you don't try and persecute him again? You sent an army after your son. How am I meant to trust you?”

Uther tried to look stoic but failed desperately. “Very well. Camelot is yours,” he said as if he had a decision to make. Uther's eyes betrayed nothing; they were far too tired to show falsehoods. His father was finally doing something good.

The wind howled and the scene changed for one final time. Camelot was Arthur's now.

**4.4**

Their memories carry forwards into Avalon and the legends of King Arthur finally get something right: things were never set in stone. The battle against Uther wasn't an ending but a beginning. It was the start of something brilliant that could no longer be denied by anyone. And now, well, now they go on.

For one last time at the end of a long, beautiful life they rise from the ashes of their pasts. Ghostly figures once again coming into it all.


End file.
